In Death Do Us Partners
by ALZkeytuch
Summary: Revamping this romp through the lighter and darker sides of the Kate Beckett and Richard Castle relationship with this exercise in converting selected screen play canon into a novel. Find out about Castle's summer in the Hamptons, more of Kate's inner feelings, how she met DMB, and those Kate and Lanie conversations we never got to hear. Can this relationship last?
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Thanks again to all of you readers, especially those who have offered helpful comments. I am revamping this narrative in response to those inputs; AND some ongoing training I'm receiving, and in preparation for an upcoming post of a whole new AU version of the Castle-Beckett story. But for now, I hope you enjoy the less choppy, plot-line tweaked, and somewhat improved version. This is a novel based mostly on canon, and we start with season 2, episode 24: "A Deadly Game" with flashback to the pilot._

 _Disclaimer: I do not own Castle – all credit goes to Andrew Marlow and the writing team for ABC's Castle; my thanks to them for providing a foundation for this little exercise._

1

Richard Edgar Castle was sitting at his desk in the office area of his loft apartment located on the upper east side of Manhattan, one of the principal boroughs that make up New York City. At first glance, one could imagine this ruggedly handsome bachelor, in his mid-thirties, as a serious executive married to his work and with little time for anything more; but the décor of his office indicated something else entirely. He looked at the collection of items on the book shelves for about the fifteenth time that morning while spinning around in his chair to take in the rest of the office space. The wall behind the chair was occupied by a large photo print hung safely above the interference of the chair back and his head. The print featured a stairwell with the point of view from the top level and the flights of stairs descending in deep relief in much the style of M. C. Escher. It was actually entitled: 'Lucee Charlemagne Staircase, Down View', and the perspective reminded Castle of the many levels in which real life could unfold. It was his goal, as a now well-established fiction writer, to write his novels with as many twists as those stairs, but for the last few weeks, he felt like he was personally travelling those stairs as well.

His apartment housed other occupants; and the roommates represented a rather unusual combination to be living with an independently wealthy, eligible bachelor often featured on the gossip page six of one of the local papers. Two women were involved – his mother, Martha, and his daughter, Alexis, both of whom he loved dearly, yet on the other hand, both were constant reminders of some past failures. The two were busy with their own affairs of the morning upstairs, while Castle remained downstairs trying to avoid a phone call from one person but hoping to receive one from another. He was trying to write but could not, seeing that his mood was not right, because his current social life was not right either. He continued to gaze about his office hoping to find something that would provide a snippet of inspiration, if not motivation, to take his worried mind off the personal issues and put some ink on the page for his current work in progress.

At the moment he was bored to death with the current work in progress which was a sad indicator because things had started out so well on his new series of books. Rather than using the laptop to get any writing done he had it open to a streaming video program featuring a very old TV episode of some private eye running down a caper; assisted by one of the women in his life. Castle himself did not know why he was watching and old episode of film noir but when he could not write, any and all forms of procrastination were fair game. He wasn't sure if this particular form of procrastination served to give him a hint as to his next move; or if he could glean anything useful from the style the writer or writers had employed in that screen play. He heard the muffled sounds of a brief commotion going on upstairs, but it was not of an intensity to warrant his interaction, so he ignored it and shifted his focus back to the video. The private eye's partner was a good looker. In that genre, all female partners were beautiful women. Therein lay the crux of his problems – the women in his life.

He thought back to the times with his first wife Meredith, Alexis' natural mother. Seventeen and some years had gone by since the brief union of two creative, artsy people with wild dreams and ambitions. Meredith had pursued performing arts. Richard was no stranger to that; his own mother had done the same. But Meredith had proven to be one of the most superficial, live-for-the moment persons on the planet; even more so than Richard himself, if such a thing were possible. The shear frivolity of it all had brought it to an end leaving Richard with a budding writing career and a young toddler to look after. Meredith had moved to Los Angeles to pursue her acting. According to her, LA provided much better opportunities than NYC. That was the story for the general public; however, there was another layer that Richard seldom talked about. Richard had once said that, if his first marriage were to be categorized, one might file it under 'Betrayal, Lies, and Deceit'. In the past Meredith had been known to fly back to NYC unexpectedly to see Alexis, but for now the three-thousand-mile gap between them seemed to be a safe enough distance.

Then there was his second ex-wife Gina Cowell, who was by no means a safe enough distance away. Richard had made the mistake of marrying one of the employees in the corporate offices of his publishing house, which was just across town in Manhattan. That marriage also had come to its final conclusion almost three years ago, but he was still paying for it in every sense of the word. He had paid for it while married also. Gina required high maintenance; and when she felt such attention was inadequate, she would go on mega-shopping sprees just to generate his attention. He was glad she was out of the loft; he only wished she was completely out of his life, but unfortunately for him, a phone call or a taxi ride was all it took to insert Gina back into his affairs; nevertheless, she was still the face of his publisher and still kept close tabs on him. Way too close for comfort was Castle's opinion on the matter given that she had been bothering him all week regarding the progress of his latest manuscript. She kept reminding him that the writing business was just that – a business, which had deadlines. Did all writers have trouble with deadlines or was it just her ex-husband, she had wanted to know. She accused him of stonewalling her just for spite. The sad truth was that he simply didn't have anything ready.

Basically, the second half of the manuscript was still missing. It had only been a scant year and eight months since he been in that situation previously. Gina had been hounding him mercilessly on that occasion also. It had been around mid-September on the evening of his book launch party for the final installment of the Derrick Storm series. The book entitled _Storm Fall_ had gone to press. Richard Castle let his daydream continue by recalling some of the more memorable events that had unfolded. A moment later the mental scene promptly vanished as the loud knock on his office door brought him back to his troubled present. In her normal style, his mother barged right into the office without so much as one second's pause after the knock on the door.

"Well I see you're working rather early this morning . . . and on a weekend no less," she said in a joyful mood.

The dialog from the streaming video episode was still going in the background. Just as he was about to reply, the portable phone on the credenza rang for the second time that morning. Richard made no motion to answer it.

"Aren't you going to answer that?"

Castle remained seated with his arms folded across his chest. "No . . .," he replied in matter-of-fact tone, ". . . and neither are you."

He issued the commanded as she headed across the room for the phone. She stopped and looked at him.

"Who are you hiding from?" she asked in a somewhat musical manner, as she frequently did.

"It's Gina," he said with a touch of annoyance in his voice, "I'm hiding from her."

Martha looked at him a little more sternly. "Why? . . . Did you miss an alimony payment?" she asserted.

Richard informed her that Gina was not calling as his ex-wife but as his publisher.

"The first draft of my new manuscript was due yesterday," he sighed, "and I haven't finished," he continued in a hushed tone as he frequently did when he was embarrassed about something he did or rather didn't do.

"Why not?"

"I haven't felt like writing . . . and besides I'm not entirely happy with where my characters are heading," he replied

"Well, change them," was his mother's answer.

"Working on it," he replied, as he mentally grappled with how he could change them both on paper and in real life.

During this little dialog Martha had been holding a shopping bag and two summer hats and was definitely in his office with something on her mind. She was dressed to go out somewhere. Richard began to piece together the possible reason for the commotion going on upstairs he had sensed earlier.

"Don't tell me . . .," he began.

She cut him off, wanting to know which of the spring and summer hats, she had put on display, he thought would make her look her best. He opened his mouth to speak.

"This usually means . . .," he began again.

"Yes, it means I got the part!" she blurted out enthusiastically.

She had just turned sixty in March, but she was still full of energy and the love of live performances.

"Well, I know it's just a twelve-week travelling summer star program, but still . . .," she went on ". . . it means you'll have to endure the summer without me. . . I'll be gone through August."

Richard frowned briefly. "I'm sure I can get along very well without you . . . but I take it this means you're not going to the Hamptons with us for the holiday weekend," he concluded.

"No darling, I won't . . . rehearsals start this evening, and then we'll be shipping out on Thursday evening . . . we open at the Watkins Glen Theater to kick off the summer," she explained joyfully.

As if the energy levels in the room were not high enough already, the moment was augmented by squeals of delight coming from the staircase and through the living room.

"I got in . . . I got in," Alexis exclaimed as she burst through the office doorway.

"Oh good, you got in!" echoed her father, as he wondered into what she had gained entry.

This one got the part; that one got in; and what have I got besides a nagging publisher and an unfinished manuscript he lamented silently.

"To what?" he asked as he looked at her with a smirk.

"The summer program for high school students at Princeton, New Jersey."

"I thought you were wait-listed."

"I was . . . but there was a last-minute cancellation and I got the spot . . . but you have to hurry and fill out the rest of the paperwork because check-in is at 2:00 PM _this_ Friday."

Meanwhile Martha was looking on in amusement. Richard was shocked at the suddenness of the changes. He glanced at the program brochure and the registration forms that Alexis had put on his desk. God, he thought to himself, not caring to voice any of his internal turmoil, now it's happing here at home too . . . I thought things back at the 12th precinct were bad enough. He turned his attention back to the documents in hand.

"Wait a minute young lady," he commanded after he had read the details. "It says here that the rooming accommodations are coed," he stated with a voice of concern.

"Yeah, it's college," Alexis replied, completely unconcerned.

"No, it's a summer program, at a college, for high school students," her father corrected.

Martha mediated the ensuing discussion on the matter forcing Castle to grudgingly relent. He didn't know which one was the worse of the two evils: either his recently turned-sixteen-year-old daughter hanging out in the company of sixteen-year-old boys at a summer program; or his daughter starting driver's education training among the environs of NYC. Both thoughts conjured up scary pictures in his mind, but he was glad the subject of driver's education hadn't come up yet. His mind snapped back to the upcoming weekend.

"This means you won't be coming to the Hamptons!" he exclaimed with dismay.

She nodded a 'No', her facial expression showing she was truly torn between the decisions she had to make.

"I even got the illegal fireworks . . . you know the kind you like with the silver starbursts and everything," her father went on.

He continued to relate all the neat things they had historically done on those particular outings.

"I can't believe you'd give up illegal fireworks and a weekend at the Hamptons for a head start on a top-notch education," he concluded.

"Yeah, I know . . . I'm a huge disappointment," she replied good-naturedly.

He gave her a hug.

Since the two of them had garnered his approval and had excused themselves from the trip to the Hamptons, they left him alone in his office and scurried off to start getting their last-minute affairs in order. The video streaming episode had concluded, and the computer sat there waiting for the next user inputs. He was about to reach for the mouse when the office phone rang again for a third time and yet again it was Gina showing on the caller ID and yet again he ignored it. He knew he couldn't hold her off forever. He refreshed the view on his manuscript file still showing that the next chapter he had intended to work on was still a blank page. He was supposed to be through the final chapter of his next book, _Naked Heat_. The cursor continued blinking patiently in the upper left-hand corner of the screen. There had been phone calls and diversions aplenty over the last week and right up through the morning but the one phone call he really wanted to receive, but had not, was from Detective Kate Beckett of the New York City Police Department – The NYPD for short.

Richard Castle and the NYPD homicide department had forged a working relationship completely by chance on the evening of the _Storm Fall_ book launch. The first face of the NYPD Richard Castle had seen on a professional basis had been the young detective Kate Beckett. It was a moment he would never forget, for it was certainly more noteworthy than a couple of his former, non-professional meetings with the NYPD. Much to Detective Beckett's dismay, the Mayor of NYC, with whom Castle had struck a friendship, liked the outcome of the chance collaboration and had asked the police commissioner to allow Castle to continue consulting for the NYPD's 12th precinct as long as the arrangement produced good results for both the writer and the department; and continued to generate good press for the city's police force. So, for the past year and eight months, Richard Castle had been allowed to tag along with the homicide department to do research and obtain insight for his writing; and to help the department free of charge. Not all on the city payroll considered him to be of help but the problem Castle was facing at the moment was that there had been no calls for the past four days. It was not that criminal activity in the city of New York had somehow been put on hold during that time, just that it meant that there was no new activity generated in the 12th precinct; or at least Beckett's team had not informed him of such. Richard Castle began to worry that Kate might be reaching out in directions that no longer required his help. His participation depended on the approval of both the detective and the captain of the precinct. He turned his attention back to the blank page, struggling to compose an opening sentence for the next chapter. If only he could just get started, perhaps the rest would begin to fall into place. Gina Cowell and Kate Beckett . . . he let his mind wander back to that fateful evening.

His ex-wife, Gina, had arranged and hosted the book launch party, which she really enjoyed planning for and being a prominent part of during the event. Richard Castle had experienced more than a few of these parties by that time and knew the drill. He was in rare form that particular evening since he had been free from his marriage with her for about a year. He had been at book signing venues all that afternoon leading up to the evening's formal activities. Book signings drew scores of women between twenty and fifty years of age and their presence put him in his wealthy playboy who can do no wrong mode. While Gina was giving a public introduction, he was on the sidelines still giving autographs and signing books. Some of the women present preferred to have various surfaces of their bodies signed instead. As Gina was reaching the conclusion of her introductory speech she caught him out of the corner of her eye signing the mostly exposed chest of a blonde twenty-something woman prompting her to shoot him a dirty look. He just grinned back at Gina and had mentioned to the recipient of the signature that all she had to do was give him a call when she was ready to wash it off. Then Castle nonchalantly took the stage and gave some details as to how Derrick Storm had been a great adventure for both writer and reader alike.

The audience, as well as those who had managed to read advanced copies of _Storm Fall_ , were amazed that this was the end of Derrick Storm and the series. Both Gina and Richard hoped the readers would enjoy this last book as much as they would enjoy the last slice of a very good dessert. But afterward, Gina was in a bad mood with Richard's antics at the party. She got on him about why he had chosen to have Derrick Storm just killed off by a shot to the head, with no chance of being able to bring him back for another run. Castle had countered that she was just worried that the goose, which had laid the golden eggs, was now dead but he assured her there was more good stuff to come. That wasn't what Gina had found out. As far as she was concerned this particular author was suffering from a severe case of writer's block. She had even threatened to have the publishing house take back the advance they had given him for his next series. Castle had retorted that he had already given the advance back – in the process of divorcing her. The little spat had caused Richard Castle to revert back to a more sober state and a somber mood.

He had retired to the quieter fringes of the party venue near one of the bars in the back. Alexis was sitting at the bar trying to do her homework accompanied by Martha. When Richard approached the two he overheard their conversation about having a test the next week. Alexis had one in algebra whereas Martha was referring to one involving liver function. Obviously there had been a difference of opinion as to how much study would be involved on each one's part. Parties were held to have fun and Alexis didn't appear to be having any. Castle found it amusing and brightened a little bit, and he brightened still further when his mother spotted a good-looking man in her age group across the room. She left with the threat 'Look out mama's going fishing . . .' Richard was still somewhat upset that his mother's loose lips had let on to Gina at some point that he was having trouble writing. The problem was simple enough. It had all become routine and predictable. The characters in the Derrick Storm series were becoming predictable. The book tours were very predictable, consisting of endless meetings with fans and countless signatures and dedications had to be written in the copies of his work. And then there were the women since many of them knew he was an eligible bachelor and made all kinds of advances and remarks. Signing body surfaces was nothing and he well knew from experience, just by the asking, additional surfaces could easily be made available. Things could go in any direction he wanted them from there. A man who could have what he wanted got it; along with a high dose of frustration due the sameness of it all.

Meanwhile the NYPD had some frustrations of its own. Castle would soon come to know that it had something to do with him. About two weeks before the book party, a businessman named Marvin Fisk had been done away with in his own office having been strangled with his own necktie. The murderer left no finger prints but did leave the scene like one depicted in one of Castle's earlier books entitled _Hell Hath No Fury_. There had been little else to go on. Kate Beckett and her homicide team took note of the details but dismissed the episode as more coincidental rather than a copy-cat murder. But a day before the book party a second murder of unusual character occurred. The 12th precinct's homicide team had jurisdiction over that one also and this time the scene was no coincidence. A young woman, Alison Tisdale, had been murdered in her own apartment where she had been found with two small caliber gun shots to the chest; had been stripped naked; laid out face up on the coffee table; and had been carefully covered with red rose petals over all of her private parts. Finally, a couple of sunflowers had been used to cover her eyes. Kate Beckett was the first one to put the two scenes together. She had mentally pictured them before; and she knew exactly where the source was to be found. Again, it was Castle's work entitled _Flowers for Your Grave_. The homicide team was sure they had a copy-cat killer, if not a serial killer, on their hands. Castle had written lots of murder scenes; that meant plenty of material to keep the killer going. He or she had to be stopped quickly. The precinct captain, upon hearing Detective Beckett's analysis, decided it wouldn't hurt to find the author and see if he could lend some insight as to where and how the alleged serial killer might strike next. They had contacted Richard Castle's publisher and learned the location of the book launch party. Since it had been Kate's theory, she had been dispatched to find Richard Castle and bring him back to the precinct to answer a few questions and possibly lend a hand on the cases.

Back at the book launch party Richard was still talking with Alexis after his mother's exit from the bar area.

"Maybe you should have me committed," he remarked in an offhand way.

"For what? . . . Letting her move in? . . . I think it's sweet," she replied thoughtfully.

"It won't be when I strangle her," he growled, passing his daughter a glass of champagne on the sly.

"You know I'm only fourteen going on fifteen, right?" she reminded him.

"Well . . . You're an old soul," he said, trying to convince her to take a sip.

"Yeah, well, me and my soul can wait," she replied in defense.

Her father looked at her quizzically. "When I was your age . . .," he began, "I can't tell that story, it's wildly inappropriate, which oddly, is my point. Don't you want to have wildly inappropriate stories that you can't tell your children?"

Alexis replied that she thought her father had had enough of those for the both of them. Richard continued:

"Life should be an adventure. You want to know why I killed Derrick? There were no more surprises. I knew exactly what was going to happen every moment of every scene. It's just like these parties . . . they've become so predictable. All I ever hear is 'I'm your biggest fan!' or 'Where do you get your ideas?'"

Alexis reminded him of the ever popular: 'Will you sign my chest?'

"Well that one I don't mind so much," replied her father.

"Well for the record, I mind it!" she had informed him.

Castle changed the subject back to the mundane portion of the job.

"Just for once I'd like to have someone come up to me and say something completely new," he lamented.

What he hadn't known at the time was that someone had been on their way to do just that because just a few minutes later, Detective Kate Beckett came up behind him and said

"Richard Castle, I'm Kate Beckett with the NYPD . . . I'd like to ask you a few questions."

Castle was only paying attention to about half of what she had said. He turned around with a sharpie marker in hand and asked:

"Where do you want it?"

All the while assuming she was just another fan finding a way to request an autographed copy of the book. He was momentarily stunned as he took in the sight. The NYPD shield, which she had thrust forward, certainly got his attention. He let his hand drop, still holding the sharpie. Next, he turned his attention to the woman holding the shield. She was a rather tall brunette with chin length hair that curved nicely around her soft facial features. He looked again, she had to be five feet eight inches tall at least, maybe more; and those three-inch spike high heels she was wearing added another two inches he figured. She was young. Castle guessed she was somewhere between twenty-five and thirty. Her hazel eyes were fixed on him, and behind those eyes, she exuded an intensity of being like nothing he had ever felt. He had grown slightly uncomfortable; even unsure of himself now that one hundred percent of that presence seemed to be focused on him alone. He managed to note that she was also quite beautiful; she certainly stood out from the rest; and Castle had seen a rather large collection of women that very afternoon. Her commanding presence slowed his normally quick wit. While he stood there speechless, his daughter leaned into the scene.

"That was new," she quipped.

Richard Castle had let the quip sink in as Alexis extracted the marker from his hand. In one way it was very new; and yet déjà vu at the same time. What made it déjà vu were the end results of some of those wildly inappropriate antics Castle had pulled some years back. He recalled asking meekly if he were in some kind of trouble. . .

The phone on the credenza interrupted his daydream and pulled him back into the present. Much to his delight, Kate Beckett's caller ID was showing. He picked it up.

"Richard Castle," he answered cheerfully.

Martha, still in the living room, overheard this greeting and poked her head through the office door.

"Remember, you've got a novel to write," she whispered loudly.

Her son looked at her and shrugged, with the phone still placed over his ear. Kate informed him of a murder. She was getting ready to head out to the scene and wanted to know if he was interested in coming along. He noted the rest of the details; hung up the phone; made a few last-minute preparations; and informed his mother and daughter that he was on his way out and would be back later that afternoon. The new development was definitely the kind of procrastination he had been hoping to find.

"Don't forget you have a novel to write." Martha yelled down the stairs as he headed for the door.

On the elevator ride down to the subterranean parking area Castle began to realize his life was again in a state of flux. He tried to face all of the inevitable scenarios and mental pictures his mind kept churning out, swirling around the central realization that his daughter was pretty much grown up. He tried to face that. There would be driving lessons; high school dances and most likely the big prom night; boyfriends of course; and the Princeton trip would be the start of all of that. Up to this point Alexis had been a model child and student and her father hoped she wouldn't break out of her shell all at once and just go wild. Some of Detective Beckett's accounts of her own teenage experiences did not comfort him at all and Kate's poker face rendered him unable to tell if she was embellishing them just to tease and worry him. He brought this mental image of his daughter into focus. She was now a slender, small-built young woman, five feet three inches in height, with the bright red hair of both Meredith and Martha. She had a cute round face, high cheek bones, subtle but alluring blue eyes and that flaming red hair had grown to an enviable length, falling to the small of her back. No doubt about boys paying attention to her. At any rate Richard keenly remembered what life had been like for the sixteen through twenty-year-old slice of the population, convincing himself that things had only become crazier than when he was that age; and of course, more dangerous in some respects. His recent exposure to the workings of the NYPD certainly made it seem that way. As he reached his assigned parking space he took a moment to admire his other pride and joy; a red Ferrari convertible, which he had acquired not long after he had separated from Gina. It was not a wise financial move amidst the costs of a divorce, but it brought him comfort to know she couldn't get her hands on it. It had been a new toy for a man in crisis, but now it brought a new concern to his conscience. He was definitely going to have to consider an additional means of transportation when Alexis started driving; this baby was out of the question. Martha had never really driven much, usually preferring transportation via taxi whenever possible. When she had really been down on her luck in the past, even the subway was perfectly acceptable to her. Castle figured one of the new assignments for Alexis would be to drive Martha where she needed to be in those short years that remained. He sat in the car a moment before starting the engine. That had been enough to think about for the time being. He started the engine, pulled the car out of the space, and headed up to street level. He donned a pair of sunglasses the moment he met the sunny street and actually became the ruggedly handsome playboy image that he liked to imagine himself to be. The mode of dress, the shades, and the car sure made him look the part as he cruised down the avenue toward the crime scene. He wondered how he was going to spend the Memorial Day weekend now that both family members had other things to do. As he continued his journey he began to hatch a plan.

 _A/N: I'm leaving the uncorrected chapters in place since I don't know if anyone's currently reading them. From here on out, I've corrected the formatting for the dialogs and have found it gives the work a whole new dynamic. (I'll comment more on what stood out to me when we get to chapter 4) If you're visiting for a first or second reading, I'd sure like to hear from you regarding to narrative and plot development. It will help me plan for my next narrative. I should be able to post updates every few days or so since I'm about 80% done._


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thanks again to all of you readers, especially those who have offered helpful comments. I am revamping this narrative in response to those inputs; AND some ongoing training I'm receiving, and in preparation for an upcoming post of a whole new AU version of the Castle-Beckett story. But for now, I hope you enjoy the less choppy, plot-line tweaked, and somewhat improved version. We continue in season 2, episode 24: "A Deadly Game" with Castle mentally reviewing his experiences and where he fits it (if at all) on his way to the crime scene._

 _Disclaimer: I do not own Castle – all credit goes to Andrew Marlow and the writing team for ABC's Castle; my thanks to them for providing a foundation for this little exercise._

2

Even at NYC latitudes the threat of frost at night had completely vanished by the third week in May. Most of the trees were in the process of flowering or had already finished and were putting out leaves. It continued to be a pleasant day and the sun was already starting to feel hot. Along with the heat one could sense the air was becoming more humid than experienced in the previous weeks. These harbingers of summer were amplified when sitting in traffic; and one vacillated between leaving the car windows down or closing up and starting the air conditioner. Kate Beckett was glad to be out of the stuffy office and back in the field, choosing to keep the patrol car windows open. Since it was a Saturday, the traffic wasn't quite as bad as usual, and the natural ventilation felt adequate. Meanwhile Richard Castle kept the convertible top down on his ride over to the crime scene. As he drove, he mentally reviewed how the process worked and how his professional friends approached their jobs.

Richard Castle knew the drill. The order in which the various NYPD members arrived at a crime scene was not fixed. It depended more on where each individual member happened to be when they received the call and what mode of transportation they had at their disposal in order to make the trip. Obviously, those already on duty would usually get there first and those on call would arrive later. If a homicide had been reported via the 911 emergency call system, it was very probable that uniformed police officers would be there first, followed in short order by paramedics and the NYFD. Since that network was carefully monitored, the dispatcher's office would send out the Crime Scene Unit (CSU) to begin investigation and collect evidence before the scene became contaminated by other activity. The CSU could be as small as two persons or it could be a dozen depending on the scope of the incident. If only a single dead body was found, CSU and a city medical examiner's van would be dispatched along with homicide detectives. Based on all the details he had compiled for his books, Castle imagined that CSU was on the scene checking for ballistics, looking for tracks, dusting for finger prints, and generally going over the immediate area looking for anything unusual or anything that might offer clues or evidence for the case.

He assumed that Kevin Ryan and Javier Esposito would be assigned to cover the case since he had heard directly from Kate Beckett. Assistant detectives might have to attend in the rare instance when both Ryan and Esposito were assigned elsewhere and could not drop what they were doing; however, Ryan and Esposito were part of Kate's close-knit team. Castle had come to like both Ryan and Esposito a lot and he hoped, or at least imagined, that the feelings were mutual. For the most part, they were. Of course, it helped that Castle could be counted on to return favors by getting the two of them floor seats or front row seats to various events using his considerable connections and means to obtain those coveted tickets. They didn't lean on him often, for which he was grateful. The detectives would appear, to the untrained eye, to be performing much the same tasks as the CSU members; and to some extent they were. The difference was in the degree of detail. CSU members were trained in very specific means and methods of obtaining forensic evidence. Each one was tasked with producing usable data, whether it might prove to be hard evidence, or background material, or a most probable sequence of events. On the other hand, it was the detective's job to take all of that evidence and somehow make sense of it with the goal of catching a killer. In effect the detectives were on a one thousand-foot reconnaissance fly-over while the CSU was down below rummaging through the weeds. Each detective had a different way of examining a crime scene and processing information. The multiple points of view and the different theories they generated were more often valuable aids in solving the crime than they were food for debates. Occasionally, depending on how passionate the parties became in their defense of a theory, these differences served as a basis for some good natured, in-house bets.

Castle considered Ryan's approach to the job and to life in general. He appeared to be as young as, if not younger, than Kate; but in reality, he was several years older. Castle had learned that he had spent a number of years in the services of the NYPD's narcotics division before moving to the homicide department. At first glance one might judge Ryan to be just an office kind of guy. In reality working the streets for the homicide department was actually less dangerous than his previous assignments, including a stint as an undercover agent for some fourteen months in order to infiltrate an Irish drug dealing gang. He only looked like a good old Irish Catholic boy leading a sheltered life, but he had the stomach for dealing with the dirty business of crime and violence. Frequently, back at the precinct office, he didn't seem to have it all together; sometimes bumping into things and on other occasions, dropping stuff. One time he tried to imitate his partner's skilled office chair rolling technique but kicked so hard he would have rolled past the interrogation room if someone hadn't grabbed the chair arm to slow him down. He'd often misjudge the direction of a conversation and firmly insert his own foot in his mouth; usually drawing glares from Kate or Javier. Again, those surface impressions could be deceiving because he proved to be an excellent detective. He was living the bachelor's life when Castle first showed up at the precinct. Castle mentally compared him to Javier. With a little more self-confidence and a slight devious streak, he could be the Artemus Gordon character in the _Wild, Wild West._ There was even a slight resemblance between the two; if one could imagine Ryan dressed in 19th century clothing. His partner, Javier, could have passed for the character Jim West at least in personality. Castle made a note to himself to drop that comparison into the mix back at the precinct someday just to see what would happen. Castle had noticed that Ryan was a good deal more impressionable than either Kate or Javier. When friendly debates over Castle's off-the-wall theories ensued between the team members, it was frequently Castle and Ryan vs. Kate and Esposito; nevertheless, Ryan was fiercely loyal to his team. He had a dry sense of humor that even caught Castle himself off guard at times. Castle had only been associated with the homicide department for a number of months when Ryan had announced he found a steady girlfriend named Jenny. Things had been going fairly well between the two of them; certainly more stable, Castle thought, than his relationship with Kate Beckett of late.

Castle's thoughts shifted to Javier Esposito. The man had a great, outgoing personality and a good sense of humor. He was slightly shorter than Kevin Ryan; Castle estimated about five feet seven inches. Esposito hadn't offered too much about his past since Castle's appearance at the precinct and Castle knew when not to play busybody; although Kate would take umbrage with his point of view. He supposed there were either Puerto Rican or Dominican genes in the family somewhere. He didn't want to hazard a guess. Javier spoke fluent Spanish of course; and had been used on occasions to provide translation services for the precinct. Castle's ear wasn't tuned well enough to determine the country of origin or what class, grammatically speaking, of Spanish it was. Castle had overheard a conversation between Javier and Kevin that "mama" could make the best mofongo on the planet. He was hoping to get the chance to try it one day although he wasn't even sure what is consisted of. He also gathered that Javier had seen lots of bad things in his life; perhaps having grown up in a neighborhood where the presence of cops would not be viewed as a thing to be welcomed. Up to this point, Castle had never heard Javier mention anything about his father, and that was something the two of them had in common; Castle had grown up without a father figure in his life as well. He further imagined that Javier had grown up defending himself, and the other the little guys; and he wanted to do what was right in order to make his close friends and family proud of the things he would accomplish. Castle could tell he still had that tendency. It appeared to him that Javier viewed himself as Kate's big brother; and Castle was sure Javier would do just about anything to protect her. What Castle did know was that Javier, when pressed to the limit, could become the James West shoot first and ask questions later character. Castle learned that Javier had served in the military Special Forces as a sharpshooter. He had served time in Iraq. He apparently kept and active life style because he remained trim and muscular in the years that followed. He had also worked as a uniformed beat cop with the 54th precinct before he moved over to the 12th and joined the homicide team a couple of years prior to Castle's appearance. On the very rare occasion where Kate briefly lacked motivational energy for the team, Javier filled the gap.

Since the crime scene had been reported by one of NYPD's own personnel, Castle knew there would only be the CSU, the homicide team, and someone from the city medical examiner's department. He was already familiar with the duties of an ME or an assistant ME as the result of his research for the Derrick Storm series. He had even consulted and interviewed retired ME's from other jurisdictions. He had met a retired individual in the Hamptons that had spent considerable time with him regarding the discovery of the causes of death; and how to identify an unknown dead person. He had also learned that not all jurisdictions required the chief ME to be a fully degreed medical doctor or even have specific training in forensic pathology. In places where life was not as complicated as it was in the big cities, the town or county mortician's position had morphed into the ME's position as well. These interviews had proved invaluable in lending realism to his murder mysteries. The New York City medical examiner's office required fully degreed medical staff; and it was not part of the NYPD, but in the case of the 12th precinct, the main office for the city ME was in the building next to the precinct house. One did not even have to go out to street level to cross between the two facilities. Castle thought that was pretty cool. Neither the NYPD in general nor the 12th precinct in particular had control of the work order in those offices. With a city the size of New York, the offices were always tasked with a backlog of work in determining causes of deaths, performing autopsies, issuing death certificates, and maintaining death records for the public. Upon learning that deaths in mass disasters were also assigned to that office he had shuddered to think of the mayhem the terrible incidents of 9/11/2001 had caused. One thing was for sure – it was a hard job; hard to endure the terrible things seen; hard on the feet since one could spend hours and hours on an examination. It needed attention to every detail and generated mountains of paperwork. On this particular day, Castle hoped that the paperwork would fall on Dr. Sydney Perlmutter; leaving Dr. Lanie Parish available for field duty.

Dr. Parish was a petite black woman with lots of charm and well-developed powers of observation; especially of an individual's behavior patterns. Perhaps that heightened sense came from dealing with dead people on her job all the time who displayed only physical characteristics but no social behaviors; although investigation of said social behaviors leading up to their deaths was fair game. She was the stereotypical southern black woman, but it wasn't an act. She was the genuine person through and through. If Kate Beckett had a commanding presence, Dr. Lanie Parish could eclipse it. She was also Kate's best girlfriend. Castle was seriously envious of how accurately Lanie could read Kate's moods and motives. But Lanie was discrete; she never went for the kiss and tell routine. On the other hand, she was quite extroverted and didn't mind telling things the way she saw them and that was especially in Kate Beckett's case. To make sure Kate got her point she would accentuate her slight southern drawl and let the sentence out slowly for added effect. She knew Kate and Richard saw something in each other, but she never tried to play one against the other. She had been known to play matchmaker in order to get Kate to at least attempt a social life; but in the case of Richard Castle, she sat back and let things take their course. Castle rather wished she would intervene, if that could help. She could read him pretty well also. There had been a crime scene not too long after he had been allowed to tag along with the homicide department where Dr. Parish had only been on call for the evening. She had been out to a formal social gathering with someone. She showed up at the crime scene directly from leaving the party, wearing a marvelous evening gown that showed her figure and plenty of chest cleavage. It was a grand departure from seeing her in medical scrubs and it took Castle by surprise. He had had trouble keeping his eyes off her. Dr. Parish had started right to work, and without missing a beat, she shot him a side remark 'Castle stop looking at the girls' and then kept right on working. She looked younger than her actual age. She had already been working of the ME's office for eight years or so; and it wasn't her first job out of medical school.

Meanwhile Kate had arrived in the vicinity. In NYC parking was where one found it; and legal parking was even more difficult to find. Kate had managed to find such a spot a couple of blocks from the park where the body was found. Kate insisted on the walk-up to the scene. It gave her time to clean the slate so to speak. She noted a convenient meeting point and sent a text message to Castle as to its whereabouts. She would wait for him there. She hoped he wouldn't be too far behind her. His prompt return text indicated that he wasn't. He had found parking about two blocks in the other direction; and to his delight there was a coffee wagon on the way to the rendezvous point. He stopped and bought a coffee for each of them; it had become an unwritten protocol for their meetings. They met at a point where a jogging path departed from the sidewalk level.

Thus, began the walk-up; or rather the walk down in this case. The path continued from street level down into an area reserved as one of the green spaces in the city. It was much, much smaller than Central Park, over which the 12th Precinct did not have jurisdiction. The path was closed in on one side by trees and shrubs, which had leafed-out to a good degree due to the warm spring weather. On the other side of the path was a small stream. Kate was glad to see that the Parks Department had maintained the place – it was remarkably free of litter. The path wound along the streambed for a few blocks with the street traffic contained on overpasses. As they walked slowly, Castle took advantage of getting Detective Beckett's womanly point of view on things usually pertaining to his daughter, and in this instance, it was about the dreaded summer program. He went on to explain how the Memorial Day weekend at the Hamptons had become a family tradition; and how father and daughter had been doing these kinds of things together since Alexis was age five. Kate thought to herself how sweet that was.

"It sounds wonderful . . . almost magical," she replied.

Castle liked her reaction, so he launched his plan.

"You know, you should come . . . it has a wonderful beach, a secluded pool; you could lay out and work on your tan," he suggested.

"You're working really hard to see me in a swimsuit," she replied.

"Well, if you're not comfortable in a swimsuit, you could always skinny dip," he suggested with a smirk.

Kate casually turned her face away from his and tried her best to suppress a broad grin. She was flattered that he had made such a suggestion; but at the same time not surprised. She too had remembered the crime scene with Dr. Parish and the evening gown. Castle had never seen Kate in anything but normal, everyday work clothes and she was sure the change of wardrobe would be a real shocker for him. She briefly enjoyed the mental picture it created; she was also sure he had done the same. She turned back in his direction, with the grin mostly stifled, but said nothing. By this time, they could see the NYPD crowd gathered near the streambed just beyond the upcoming overpass. Castle could sense she was already mentally gearing up for the tasks ahead; he dropped the Hamptons proposal for the time being.

He was also satisfied to see that the crime scene and the personnel attending to it had unfolded much like he had expected. He was also glad to see that Dr. Parish was the one collecting the preliminary field data. CSU had put up the yellow 'Crime Scene - Do Not Cross' barrier tape, and the members were hard at work combing the area for evidence. There was also the uniformed officer who had made the discovery. Ryan and Esposito had also arrived and were in the process of taking his statement. As was frequently the case, Richard and Kate were the last ones to arrive. Dr. Lanie Parish shot a discrete glance at them just to check the particular chemistry for the day.

"Well, what have we got so far?" Kate asked, not addressing anyone directly.

They were staring at a fairly young white male, who apparently had been found lying face down in the stream bed below the overpass. Just fifty yards or so beyond the overpass, the pathway began its assent back to street and sidewalk level. They surmised that the victim might have been shot from somewhere in that vicinity. He had been facing in that direction, they surmised, so he must have seen at least the figure or silhouette of his killer; then he fell forward. The cause of death was obvious. He had received five gunshot wounds – GSW's as Dr. Parish usually abbreviated the term, to the chest. They had passed clear through the victim and the exit wounds were evident on his back. Dr. Parish continued her analysis. Based on temperature and lividity, she estimated the time of death to have been between 11:00 PM and 1:00 AM. Castle knew from his previous research that the ME would use three indicators to approximate time of death. The degree of rigor mortis, and the evolution of it, could be used in conjunction with core body temperature at the time of the field examination; and the degree of lividity exhibited by the body. He also knew that Dr. Parish preferred to use temperature and lividity more often than not. He figured that since rigor mortis progressively developed and then progressively eased in reverse order, that might be the reason why Dr. Parish avoided making any initial assessments based on it. He had learned that it set in as a compound called ATP began to drain out of the body's muscles since the was no fresh blood circulation to replace it after the heart stopped. The ATP was what kept the energy transport in the muscles and helped them stay in a relaxed state. Without it the muscles would become stiff and inflexible. It affected all muscles simultaneously but the smaller ones such as those in the face, neck, and arms would be affected first; and the larger ones visibly affected later. The process often caused the faces of the victims to contort into grimaces or expressions of terror as if this were the last thing the victims expressed as they died. That wasn't true. Anywhere from two to about twenty hours after death, the rigor, or stiff stage, would set in and hold, but if the body remained in ambient even longer, the process would begin reverse and the body would eventually become limp again. Measurement of body temperature was a perfectly logical and straightforward thing to do, but it had to be body core temperature; and to obtain this, one had to stick the temperature probe where the sun did not shine. The most accurate place to obtain it was the interior of the liver. The ME would measure the current temperature of the body core, the ambient temperature outside the body, and would work backwards using a linear formula from the present time to a time when the interior would have measured a normal, healthy temperature of 37.5 degrees Centigrade. It wasn't quite that easy. It required a good knowledge base and a reasonably accurate assessment of the ambient temperature over the past twelve hours or more. One thing that puzzled him about the procedure was the linear approximation. Why wasn't it an exponential relationship? He would try to find a time where he could get Dr. Parish's view on that matter. He didn't dare approach Dr. Perlmutter about it; knowing the storm of scorn that would ensue as to his ignorance. Dr. Perlmutter was clearly one of those people on the city's payroll that considered him a nuisance rather than helpful. Castle knew why lividity might have been Dr. Parish's favored indicator. Lividity was associated with how the blood pooled in the lowest portions of the body after circulation stopped. Lividity also displayed itself as a dark purple discoloration of the body and could also be referred to as Livor Mortis or Post Mortem Hypostasis. The longer a body had been dead, the more permanent the colored areas. One checked that by pressing hard on a discolored area; if it lightened significantly under the pressure point, the test was being made closer to the time of death. After about the six-hour mark, the lividity pattern generally became fixed, which meant that the pressure test would not lighten the affected point significantly. Lividity often proved invaluable in helping the ME determine if the body had been moved after death occurred. So, when the pattern was fixed, the perpetrator or a third party could move the body from a crime scene or pose the body in a different way, but the light and dark patterns told the tale of the original position anyway.

Meanwhile Ryan and Esposito had been debriefing some of the CSU members. One of the curious features of the scene was the lack of those bullets which had exited the body. They should have been lodged in some surface nearby. Ryan showed Kate a section of river birch tree trunk and reported that the killer had taken the time to extract the slugs from it and the other points nearby. Fingerprints were also lacking at the scene. It might have sounded either silly or obvious, but all team members had been trained to check to see if the victim was wearing a watch. Many people still preferred an analog model; and many who had been slammed against a wall or had sustained a long fall with a very short stop at the end of it also had broken watches that indicated the time the impact occurred. Castle had used this clue numerous times in his novels. The victim did not have a watch but what he did have intact was his wallet and his car keys. An examination of the wallet's contents revealed the victim to be a Mr. Sean Caldwell, supposedly employed by FastWater Global Services. No one on the team had ever heard of such a company. There was still money in the wallet as well as a collection of other cards and ID's. Some indicated that he might be from out of town, but there was also a local gym membership card. The whole thing was puzzling at best. Nevertheless, the murder did not appear to be the result of a mugging gone wrong. Castle remarked that with the strange collection of ID's, coupled with the fact that the victim had received a close grouping of shots, and that the killer had been cool enough to clean up after himself pointed to the possibility of hit by a highly trained assassin. Kate wondered if his theory would go spinning out of control from there. To her surprise that was as far as he went. The teams finished up their work and headed back to their respective bases of operation. Fortunately for the homicide team, Dr. Parish had an opening in her schedule and could start further analysis as soon as the ME's van arrived back at the facility. Richard and Kate walked back up to street level together. Each seemed to be lost in their own thoughts; so, conversation was minimal. They split up with a mutual 'see you back at the office' and headed to their cars.

 _A/N: I'm leaving the uncorrected chapters in place since I don't know if anyone's currently reading them. If you're visiting for a first or second reading, I'd sure like to hear from you regarding to narrative and plot development. It will help me plan for my next narrative._


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thanks again to all of you readers, especially those who have offered helpful comments. I am revamping this narrative in response to those inputs; AND some ongoing training I'm receiving, and in preparation for an upcoming post of a whole new AU version of the Castle-Beckett story. But for now, I hope you enjoy the less choppy, plot-line tweaked, and somewhat improved version. We continue in season 2, episode 24: "A Deadly Game" with Castle trying his best to stay on Kate's good side while not giving up on his plan to invite her to the Hamptons._

 _Disclaimer: I do not own Castle – all credit goes to Andrew Marlow and the writing team for ABC's Castle; my thanks to them for providing a foundation for this little exercise._

3

On the way back to the precinct Castle tried to envision the appropriate moment to urge Kate to at least reconsider a trip with him to his place at the Hamptons for the holiday weekend. He was getting concerned because Kate was still the same mysterious, play it close to the vest Kate, but she had seemed subtly distant over the past few months with an even more marked change over the last couple of weeks. Well, she still enjoyed the attention and thoughtful gestures he bestowed upon her; and she still took the teasing and comments, laced with double entendre, pretty much as she had always done after the first month of her feigned 'I'm horrified' reactions had subsided. Yet something was at a stand-still between them. He had to admit it to himself. He had become very, very fond of Kate Beckett and he sincerely wished that things might progress to the next level. What was it going to take? He wished he knew.

Although Castle wasn't on the NYPD payroll or even on the roster, he had signed a really thick stack of papers, which constituted an agreement between him and the department for access and consulting purposes. The one perk it allowed him was an unreserved parking spot along with the other employees in the back of the 12th precinct. Other than that, he was just a frequent visitor. Upon arriving, he touched the access badge to the sensor and the gate slid open and as he drove through, he noted that the other homicide team members had already arrived so without further delay he made his way to the fourth floor, where the homicide department was located. As the elevator doors slid open, he could see from a distance that Kate was already seated at her desk. She appeared to be just finishing up with something on the computer, which he assumed was a quick entry in the electronic case files. He took the opportunity to slide into the chair beside her desk, the one in which he normally sat, and had called up a photo out of his cell phone's gallery of pictures, which was a view of the ocean from his deck at the Hamptons. She had sensed his presence even before he sat down. She looked up.

"Here's a view from my deck at the Hamptons . . . It doesn't get any better that that," he urged.

He looked up from the screen to study her expression. The proposition had not had the effect he intended. She wasn't mad or disgusted with him, but she had the look of maddening frustration on her face.

"What's wrong?" he sincerely wanted to know.

For the moment, no one else was clustering around her desk as was often the case. Both Ryan and Esposito were busy at their respective desks entering case notes from their observations at the crime scene. Finally, she replied:

"No, nothing's wrong . . . except I can't find anything about FastWater Global Services."

Apparently, the image of a beach holiday had not registered in her mind. She was on a mission. There was no sense in trying to push the idea any further at that moment.

"Oh, FGS . . . on the ID's," Castle sputtered.

"Yeah, the address on the ID said the office was on 1747 West 43rd Street . . ." she began, ". . . I looked, it's in the middle of the Hudson River," she concluded flatly.

"So, I assume you've run his name," Castle followed, trying to sound helpful.

"Yeah, there are about a dozen Caldwell's in the tristate area alone, but none of them match the victim's physical description" she countered.

"What about his fingerprints?" asked Castle, hoping these obvious questions weren't serving to infuriate her.

"Not in our system . . .," she huffed, ". . . Who is this guy?"

For a moment, Kate expected him to launch into another one of his CIA theories. When he didn't, she prodded him.

"You don't happen to know about any secret, underground, CIA facility beneath the Hudson River, do you?" she asked in a hushed tone as if they were being monitored.

He just shrugged. Before he could come up with a counter jibe or some play on words, the desk phone rang. The ID showed it to be Lanie's extension calling to inform Kate that she had found something that might merit their visit to the examination area. She assumed Castle would be in her company. Kate brightened somewhat with the discovery of a new clue, and together they got up and headed for the ME's office.

"Please tell me you've got an ID on this person." Kate called out to Lanie as they entered.

"No, but while I was going over the vic, I found this little baby," was Lanie's reply as she hunched over a bino-microscope. "We know the shooter tried to clean up after himself, but there was a bullet fragment still stuck in his ribs . . . I can't tell you the caliber but see these edges, it has the rifling pattern consistent with a Glock," she concluded proudly.

Lanie had also finished most of the photo documentation of the victim's body. She held up prints of the entry and exit wounds allowing the three of them to study the physical evidence. There were no signs of muzzle burns on the victim's chest; or any other indicators of shots from point-blank range. Castle noted, as did the others, that the shots were very tightly grouped on the victim's chest, even for shots fired from a distance.

"That means he's a very good shot," Castle concluded.

True enough. But since they couldn't guess the distance between the shooter and the victim; nor could they determine anything more about the ammunition from that small fragment without laboratory analysis, an estimate of the bullet's caliber could only be a huge, unsubstantiated guess that might lead the team off in a wrong direction and that explained why Dr. Parish hadn't offered more information.

Castle's initial theory of the victim being the target of a professional assassin didn't sound too farfetched at that point. They thanked Dr. Parish for getting to the examination so quickly and left the examination room. It was getting late in the afternoon prompting Castle to call it a day and head back to his apartment. He was disappointed that Kate hadn't accepted his offer, but at the same time she hadn't said a flat-out 'No', so maybe there was still hope. When he arrived home, he found the two women were still out somewhere, which left him little choice but to settle in and try to make some progress on his manuscript. There were three messages from Gina on his phone. He didn't return the calls. He moped about his office for another fifteen minutes with second thoughts as to whether he should call Gina and come clean with her about the manuscript. His mind drifted once again, but this time it was about the characters in the manuscript. The plot involving _them_ wasn't heading anywhere faster than his plan to get closer to Kate Beckett. He set to work at making some general edits to the previous chapters. He started sketching a revised storyline and just about the time when he became fully engaged with the effort, Martha and Alexis returned, loaded with the results of their last-minute shopping trips. They continued to banter noisily about the upcoming summer experiences right on through dinner. Richard was happy to see them both happy, he mostly listened so as not to disturb the good mood. He continued to worry about how the coed dormitory arrangement was going to work out but said nothing more about the subject. They all stayed up until after midnight pursuing their individual activities.

Sunday dawned without much pressure to get anything done, still, around mid-morning Richard decided to check in with the precinct. The team had already been busy and suggested that he find his way down there to see how things were progressing. One of the things that had given them new energy was the discovery of the car that had been driven by the murder victim. When Castle had called, there was a discussion as to whether it was better to intercept it at the field location or just wait until it arrived at the city impound lot. Kate had insisted that they go to the field as soon as possible. She sent a text to Richard to meet them back at the location near the crime scene. It turned out that the car was parked about two and a half blocks away from the green zone they had visited the previous day. Meanwhile Esposito had tracked down details on the rental car company. At least their offices could be found at a real city address on dry land. Since Esposito still had the key fob in hand, he joined Ryan and Beckett for the trip to the field.

Castle hurriedly readied himself and found his way over to the site, arriving only a few minutes after the homicide team did. The key fob successfully opened the car and its trunk, which belonged to a company called Allied Fleet Services, Inc. The unit in question was on a long-term lease to none other than FGS. Kate wanted to know how they could rent a real car with a real contract to a company that didn't exist.

"Oh, it exists" remarked Esposito, ". . . just not here in NYC. All correspondence goes to a post office box in the Cayman Islands."

Kate was glad that someone had made some progress since the day before; she was inwardly sorry that it hadn't been her. The detectives began a search for more clues. Although this item was related to the murder, they did not use the services of CSU this time around, figuring that lifting finger prints would be time consuming and the results probably useless. There was nothing special about the outside of the vehicle except for obvious damage to the driver's side rear fender and the broken-out tail light. Castle quipped something about the renter needing the collision damage option. The search continued. Kate was looking around the driver's seat while Castle stood by and studied Kate, which was something he did whenever he got the chance. He was really enjoying his vantage point at the moment. Meanwhile Ryan was busy with the trunk. Esposito was checking the rest of the interior. The first item that raised eyebrows was found under the passenger's seat. Esposito extracted a serious gun of some kind, which looked like it might be of military issue. None on the team were familiar with it. Next, Ryan came forward with a banded stack of Euro's; with €5,000 neatly stamped on the band. The curious part was that the stack had just been tossed in the trunk. There was nothing else in there; not a bag or a briefcase was to be found. Finally, among a pair of sunglasses and the rental agreement for the car, a small pen case turned up in the glove box. Esposito handed it to Castle who was nearest at the moment; and then extracted himself from the car. The four of them stood there puzzling as to what kind of business the victim might have been into. Castle, of course, could not resist exploring stuff once he had it in hand, opening the case and finding a gold anodized ball-point pen; and along with it an American flag lapel pin. The pen was somewhat unusual. It had something like perforations around one area of the body, just above the grip. Meanwhile, as the homicide team was documenting their findings, Castle removed the pen and clicked it. Immediately, a recording began playback. Castle tried to explain that he really hadn't done anything. Kate motioned for him to be quiet for a change, so everyone could listen. The recording went:

'Good evening 223, the informant has been identified; allied contact will meet you at 1350 at the café Mulan; wear the pin, use the code phrase "Aren't you Steve's friend?"; response: "No, Steve is my brother"; Good luck 223.'

They stood there in silence hoping to hear more. Suddenly the pen began to emit a strong hiss along with grey smoke. The smoke quickly was followed by hot flames as if the pen had become a firework. Castle dropped it like the hot potato it had become. Kate looked at him with great amusement seeing that Castle was actually experiencing one of his crazy theories.

"Well now we know," she began with a wry expression, "Our vic's a spy."

From the evidence up to that point none could disagree with her. They secured the scene and took the evidence back to the precinct. Castle tagged along behind in his own car as he had the day before.

It was Captain Montgomery's weekend to be on call. A number of issues had been reported already that morning; so in response, he had made his way into the precinct office. He was on hand when Kate and the homicide team returned. Ryan and Esposito immediately went to their desks to begin entering notes for the case; and to get someone in the property room to document the latest items. Esposito took a brief moment to examine the gun before moving on to other things. It looked real enough, but there was something about it that puzzled even him. Castle by now had joined Kate and the two of them went to discuss the latest developments with Captain Montgomery. Kate had bought into the theory that the victim must have been a spy taken out by a professional assassin; maybe even an enemy agent. She inquired of Montgomery as to what they should do next. The captain advised them to just keep doing their jobs – to just treat it like a local homicide until someone from a government office with more authority than theirs told them otherwise. Fair enough they concluded. That meant they didn't have much time before they had to execute their next move. It was already going on 1:00 PM.

Kate asked Ryan and Esposito to keep working on more information regarding FGS. A PO Box in the islands wasn't going to be sufficient. She and Castle got a patrol car and headed across town to the café Mulan. Both the venue and the parking were easy to find. It was just going on 1:45 PM when they entered together. Since the victim was a male, Castle logically donned the lapel pin. The café was very nice. It had the concept of the Panera Bread chain cafes, but this was much fancier. There were about a dozen tables, mostly small round ones; and set for either two or four persons. The settings featured real china and real silverware along with linen table clothes and napkins. The layout and the décor gave it an almost European feeling. There were also a couple of sitting areas with some upholstered wing chairs and coffee tables in between. The two newcomers cast their collective gaze around the room. There were eight couples spread about the various tables. One table held a larger gathering. The sound level was muted. Castle fixed his gaze on a lone woman seated in one of the wing chairs. She was a trim blonde; maybe thirty-five years old. She was dressed formally, with a calf-length green velveteen skirt, pale cream-colored blouse, and matching green jacket. Her hair had been braided and wound into a bun at the back of her head. She had a serious look about her as she sipped tea from a china cup.

"That must be the one," whispered Castle.

"How do you know?" Kate inquired.

"She's the only one in here who's alone," he replied, as if everyone who dealt with spy capers should just know that.

He made his way over to her quietly while Kate remained near the entrance. The woman had not seen them enter and sensing Castle's presence, she looked up. She studied him briefly and saw the lapel pin causing her expression to change from placid to one of confusion crossed with concern. Castle tried the code phrase.

"Aren't you Steve's friend?" he asked as if it were something he did every day.

Upon hearing the line, the woman looked even more concerned; then frowned at him as he casually took a seat in one of the chairs opposite hers. Castle tried to pry further response from her.

"Go away!" she replied with an accent that sounded French.

Castle surmised that it was faked and discretely made his exit.

"That wasn't the one," Castle whispered to Kate when he returned to her side.

"I gathered that" she countered. "I don't know about this," she continued, ". . . I mean this clandestine meeting stuff . . . it all seems so old fashioned, why not just send someone an encrypted email?"

Castle thought about her point for a moment.

"Sometimes you just have to do things off the grid," he stated.

She nodded.

"Speaking of off the grid, I was serious about this weekend," he said casually.

She glanced at him. "You're actually asking me to the Hamptons," she replied.

"Yes. I promise no funny stuff. Just a friendly get away; it will be fun," he said enthusiastically.

"Some of us have to work for a living," she groaned.

"On Memorial Day?"

"Shh – Shh" she interrupted him.

At that moment a rather large man, dressed in a dark suit, was making his entrance alone. He had shaved his head completely bald. He was wearing the same lapel pin as Castle had acquired. They studied each other very briefly. Castle decided to go for it.

"Aren't you Steve's friend?" he asked his new audience.

"No, Steve is my brother," was the response.

'Now what?' Castle asked himself; clearly, he had not thought this out very well. The unidentified man continued with more information.

"The mark is on the move . . . if you can get a shot take it," the man expounded. "Just know that there are other agents in play . . . good luck 223," he concluded as he turned to leave.

"Wait!" pleaded Castle, "I need confirmation . . . my people need confirmation on the target."

Castle adlibbed hoping to either stall the man or get some clarification as to what he had just become a part. Meanwhile Kate was watching carefully as this unfolded. It was a good thing she was paying attention because the unidentified man reacted quickly to Castle's last request revealing that something was not part of the pre-arranged plans between the two. He became violent and demanded to know who Castle was as he pinned him against the wall near the doorway. Kate didn't let it get any further out of hand. She flashed her NYPD badge, identified herself, and informed the man his was under arrest for public misconduct. She handcuffed him but all the while, the man didn't look the least bit alarmed by this development. Kate called for more back-up and another patrol car to escort the man back to the precinct for questioning.

Richard Castle joined Detective Kate Beckett in the interrogation room back at the precinct. Their mystery man was not cooperating. They got his name: Hans Bremel, and that was about it. Kate used her combination of questions, taunts, suppositions, and threats to get him to start talking while Castle helped paint in some of the details. The suspect didn't budge on the issue. He played his position, whatever it was, to the hilt, continuing to look straight at them as he spoke.

"Listen, I've spent days in all the wrong places in Afghanistan with fire ants crawling in my privates . . . so I doubt that your polite but stern questioning is going to get you anywhere . . . so this is how things are going to happen. In about five or ten minutes you're going to receive a phone call from someone much higher than you. They're going to tell you there's been a misunderstanding; and that you will be required to release me. You will, grudgingly, but you will release me nonetheless, and you will watch me walk out of here never to be seen again," he concluded with an air of self-assurance that seemed real.

They concluded the interview on that note and Kate got on the intercom with a request to have two uniforms from holding escort their uncooperative guest to a nice cozy cell until the threatened phone call was received. Meanwhile Ryan and Esposito had been busy. They had either sent photos or had made some rounds and shown the photo of the victim to the managers and desk clerks at numerous local hotels and it had paid off. Someone at the Carter Regency Hotel had recognized him; although he had not checked in as Sean Caldwell. As soon as Kate heard of it she made for the hotel room, with Castle in tow, to see what clues could be found there. From what little information they had it seemed that something big was going down in rather short order and the last thing Kate wanted for the NYPD was more dead bodies on their hands. The hotel manager let them into the room. Their search turned up the expected hotel safe, to which Kate had the hotel manager apply the master override code in order to get at its contents. They found more fake ID's and passports. The search of the victim's personal effects as well as the rest of the hotel room continued, finally turning up a dossier tucked below the bed. It looked official and had been classified as 'Secret'. Kate opened it anyway. She found a photo of some dignitary taken in front of the UN building. According to the dossier, he was the minister of banking for the Republic of Luvania. Kate was starting to get worked up.

"This is big" she whispered, "I've got to call the state department."

"I wouldn't call the state department just yet," Castle responded. "Have you ever heard of the Republic of Luvania?"

He showed her the results of a web search he had just initiated on his cell phone. 'No results for Republic of Luvania' was on the display.

"I did quite a bit of research into world geography for several of my books and I know this is not a mistake," he went on.

"Okay, so then what is all this about? . . . I mean, guns, money, meetings, a hit on a guy from a nonexistent country" Kate went down the list.

"I think I know," said Castle with a wince, "This is a game!"

Hans Bremel had given a tremendous performance back at the precinct but now it was time for him to come clean. They discussed how to get to the bottom of this so-called game on the way back to the office. They had with them all the trappings of the game along with the rest of the victim's personal effects. When they arrived they immediately made their way back to the precinct's holding area. Hans was sharing a cell with a rather large, mean looking, street thug who was being held for unruly conduct until the paperwork was made final.

"Alright Hans, or whatever your name really is . . . it's time you started telling us just who you are and who gave you your instructions; and who put you up to this; otherwise you're going to be staying here a long time," Kate informed him.

He kept his stern look.

"Hey, you're really breaking the fourth wall here aren't you?" he questioned them.

The comment went over Kate's head. Castle had heard that term before, but said nothing except:

"Look, she's a real police officer; and you're in real jail here . . . so if I were you I'd start cooperating."

Hans looked back incredulously. Beckett nodded. Hans took a quick glance over his shoulder at his cellmate. The big guy just grunted agreement as to the situation.

"Hans, there's been no phone call," Kate said flatly.

The gravity of this finally sank in.

"You mean this isn't part of the experience?!" Hans inquired, his voice breaking, revealing his shock mixing with panic.

They nodded a 'No' in unison.

"Oh, it's an experience alright, but it probably won't have the outcome you were expecting," Kate finally replied.

As they were turning to go, Hans finally told them something about a Spy-vacations package. Castle had been right; it was all part of a game. With that hint, Esposito had gathered enough information to confirm the mystery man's story. As Kate and Richard made their way back to the office area he had found a website for the company called Spy Ventures, Inc. The web page advertised high end 'Spy-cations' packages for the thrill seeker. Their claim to fame was authenticity in every detail.

"Take a look at this," exclaimed Esposito, excitedly pointing to the web page on his computer screen as they approached his desk.

The team members looked over his shoulder as he combed across the web page.

"You want to imitate James Bond? . . . They've got a package; You want to participate in an assassination? . . . They've got a package; you want to make your entrance in a helicopter with guns blazing? . . . They've got a package," Esposito went on to enumerate the possibilities.

"I think we've got the point," said Kate. "Now where do we find these people?"

Fortunately for the team, there was an office address on 37th street; however, a call to the number listed only resulted in a voice mail response as to the office being currently closed and the hours of business for Monday through Friday. They considered sending a patrol car by the place just to see if anyone was actually there, but the dispatcher informed them that everyone was out on other calls. Kate decided it was something that could wait until Monday morning since it was already getting late in the day. Meanwhile Hans still had about another eighteen hours to go before he finished his holding cell experience courtesy of the NYPD. Richard Castle bid farewell to the team, but more importantly to Kate, with his usual question.

"Tomorrow?"

Kate replied "Tomorrow."

On his way home Castle kept wondering why Kate always chose to take the holiday weekend shifts at the precinct. He thought back to the past Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's Day and saw the commonality – she was always working.

 _A/N: This one was really fun to write, especially the dialog. Hope you readers thought so too._


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: I hope you enjoy the less choppy, plot-line tweaked, and somewhat improved version. We continue in season 2, episode 24: "A Deadly Game" with Castle getting an unpleasant surprise, and Kate acting dumber than ever, at least as far as personal relationship etiquette is concerned. Castle loves his place at the Hamptons, but he doesn't necessarily like to be there alone. One thing that stood out to me this time around was the prevalence of lies being told . . . which seemed to stand out more after reworking the dialog._

 _Disclaimer: I do not own Castle – all credit goes to Andrew Marlow and the writing team for ABC's Castle; my thanks to them for providing a foundation for this little exercise._

4

Richard Castle arrived back at his apartment a little after six o'clock. It had not been the kind of day he had expected making his plan for the trip to the Hamptons still a go, but it would include only him since Kate had opted for work instead of play. The case had turned from one of the coolest ever to a tragedy; a man getting himself killed while playing a high-tech game. And there was another man, in a holding cell, also playing the same game, not appearing to care too much about the _real_ murder that had taken place. He retired to his office. He wasn't ready to fix dinner yet even though he had not found the time to take lunch. He looked at the stack of registration papers he needed to sign for Alexis' Princeton trip and the rather hefty registration fee required along with it. He began reviewing the papers and adding the needed signatures; started his computer and signed on to the on-line banking account and arranged a transfer to the program's registrar for the needed amount. Martha had heard activity from the office and had come in to brief him on her adventures for the day. She had some more summer fashion items for his review. While they were talking, they heard sound of the front door being opened followed by some quiet footsteps. Alexis must have come back. Richard thought it strange that she hadn't come looking for anybody.

The departure from normal continued as it became apparent to the two in the office that there were two more in the apartment finding their way over to the sofa. When Alexis sensed that the apartment was occupied, she turned to face the rest of the family.

"Oh, everybody's here," was her general announcement.

"Yes, we are," replied her father, "were you expecting to be alone?"

"No . . . Gran, and Dad, this is Carter, he's going to be attending the Princeton summer program with me," she offered in an explanatory way.

"Oh is he now?" countered her father with a somewhat stern look.

It was unusual for him to look that way at his daughter. Martha sensed how uncomfortable everyone was becoming, especially Alexis' guest.

"Hi, I'm Martha, lovely to meet you Carter," she said warmly.

Richard said nothing. Alexis bade her new acquaintance to wait in the kitchen area while she discussed the reason for his sudden appearance with her father and grandmother. He wholeheartedly agreed and found his way over there in short order. Alexis turned her attention back to her two family members. It appeared that Alexis had gained access to a roster of attendees and began looking them up on Facebook. She learned that Carter lived very close by and so, just like that, friended him on Facebook.

"I just thought we'd hookup," she concluded.

Richard didn't like the sound of that part at all.

"Alright," she corrected herself, "I just thought it would be nice to go there already knowing somebody . . . that's why I contacted him," she explained.

The roster also included rooming arrangements.

"And our rooms are right across from each other," she added with a broad smile.

Her father, who had been sipping on a coffee, almost choked on it when he heard that. She made her way back to the kitchen to see how her guest was coping with the situation. Martha and Richard returned to the office but were still looking through the doorway.

"How old would you say that boy is?" Richard asked his mother while still trying to clear his throat.

"Old enough to do all the things you did when you were his age," she replied.

"That's what worries me," he said under his breath.

"Oh, Richard don't be such a prude!"

Richard returned to his desk. He had to admit it; the morals in the family were downright loose, with the exception of his daughter of course. Up to this point Alexis had been the only one with some personal integrity among the pretty outrageous examples that had been set by the other two family members. He would have to work on a more balanced outlook; one with more guidance rather than hypocritical mandates. He promised himself that he'd work on it. It was strange, he thought, that teenage boys, himself included, remained completely oblivious to the sentiments of their girlfriend's fathers. Now the shoe was on the other foot, now he understood, experiencing payback was tough.

The new dynamic between Alexis and Carter quickly faded into the background as the phone rang. Richard turned to check the caller ID finding it was Gina, which made the phone's ringer seem to have a nagging overtone in it. As usual he refused to answer it and Martha was becoming tired of his little game.

"I suppose you're not going to answer it," she began, "dear, you can't hold her off forever, why don't you just let me talk to her?" she offered.

"No, No, No!" he said firmly as he waved her off.

Meanwhile the phone went to voicemail.

"Dear, you've got to face up to these challenges . . . you can't hide from her all summer . . . what are you going to do? You can't keep running around with Kate Beckett and not bothering to get any writing done," she concluded.

"Well, what about Chet?" he questioned her trying to change the subject.

"Oh, he'll be okay, besides it's good for him to miss me; I don't want him to think I'll be around forever."

Richard continued to think about her last comment. Did she imply that when one was getting old it meant that one would simply expect to go to the 'ever after' at any time? Or was it just an off-hand remark indicating that her current relationship was expected to be just as ephemeral as all the previous ones? He applied it to himself. He knew full well that sooner or later either his or Kate's paths would diverge. Something would happen to take each of them in another direction. A new mayor would be elected; a new precinct captain might replace the current one and the working agreement with the NYPD would come to an end. He might decide to scrap the Nikki Heat series and start on a new project. At the rate things were going, scrapping the whole concept and starting over with something else might be the right choice he kept thinking to himself. During this mental wrangling, Martha had made her exit and had decided to start preparing dinner. Martha's cooking style was not for everybody. Upon discovering the de facto chef for the evening Alexis announced that she and her guest were going out for pizza; and that she'd be back before mid-night. Richard and his mother enjoyed a quiet dinner together since there would be few opportunities to repeat it before her departure for the summer. After dinner Richard returned to his office and the problem of getting the next manuscript moving forward again. He continued to grapple with the storyboard. He played with yet more scenarios and their possible consequences and outcomes. There was some progress, but he still wasn't convinced. Writing for a living could be as bad to endure as even the worst office job. Anyone who doubted that was free to trade with him for a month or two. He'd take their boss, but they'd get Gina in return.

With Monday morning's arrival, the apartment grew busy as each family member readied themselves for the day ahead. Alexis said she was going to drop by the school to see if the final exam grades had been posted; since there had been no activity via email or on any of the teacher's web pages related to her classes. She wasn't worried, but as always, she wanted to make absolutely sure everything was in place to advance to the next grade level. Only then could she go off to Princeton and conquer the next academic challenges. Martha was going to visit Chet for lunch and break the news of her participation in the summer theater program and her absence from NYC as a consequence. Richard wished her well. His mood had improved over the previous afternoon, so he decided to play it business as usual. On the way into the precinct he stopped at the same coffee wagon not even having to make the request, as his face appeared at the window, the proprietor immediately began preparation of their favorite brews. As Castle waited for the coffees to be delivered, he was wondering what the folks at Spy Ventures would have to say.

He made his way through the front entrance of the precinct building and walked up the stairs to the fourth floor and down the short hallway toward the open cluster of desks that held one of the homicide teams. As he made the turn into the aisle way he felt a lump form in his throat. Kate was a little more nicely dressed than usual and sitting on top of her desk rather than in her chair. Ryan and Esposito apparently were elsewhere. She had on a nice pair of charcoal grey slacks and a white blouse with a plunging neckline. She had her legs crossed and was lazily swinging the top one back and forth. The other unexpected accessory was Detective Tom Demming from the robbery department on the precinct's second floor. He was standing but leaning over and whispering something in Kate's ear. Richard Castle slowed his pace appreciably so as not to intrude on their intimate conversation. He felt whatever momentum had been left in his relationship with her begin to dissipate rapidly.

"Didn't mean to break up the party," he said as plainly as he could manage.

While Tom Demming was straightening up and telling her to think about it; whatever it was they had been discussing. The 'It' didn't sound good to Castle.

"No there's no party," replied Kate as if nothing had been going on.

Kate was a master at the best defense is a good offense scheme. Of course, Richard had unknowingly given her plenty of ammunition for the attack. He set her coffee down at the usual place on her desk and kept his in hand.

"Oh, by the way," she began, "your ex-wife called . . . she said she's been looking all over for you, and that you're behind on your latest manuscript, what was it called? . . . _Naked Heat_. . . That's a catchy title," she finished tersely. "She's naked on the cover again, isn't she?" Kate hissed before he could make any excuses.

"Well, yeah . . . kind of," he mumbled, still looking for a better way to smooth things over.

"When were you going to tell me?"

"Well, I was looking for the perfect time . . . but it seems that time just hasn't happened yet," he finished slowly, knowing that the present venue was far, far, far from the perfect time or place.

"Well, nobody's going to make fun of me . . ."

Her voice trailed off as she began walking toward Esposito's desk. Castle became alarmed at her cool reaction and the double entendre of the statement. He said nothing more in response. The hole he found himself in had already become deeper than he was tall. He followed her over to see what Esposito had to say. He hoped that somehow the whole team hadn't become angry at him. Esposito received the two of them in a business as usual manner, much to Castle's relief. Esposito had already contacted the sales manager for Spy Ventures. The manager was available to answer any questions the NYPD had.

After the episode he had experienced with Kate so far, he was rather surprised to learn that he could accompany her to question the personnel at the Spy Ventures office. He wasn't sure if it was going to be a comfortable ride. She might have forgiven him, but then again, she might use the opportunity to berate him further on his choice of book titles and how his literary choice in depicting her character had caused all kinds of grief since the first book had been published. As the ride across town continued, he began to think of the missteps he had taken a number of months back. Detective Tom Demming's path had crossed with theirs during a case that involved a major theft coupled with a murder. The department selected two of its best to team up on the case. Obviously, Kate's team was one and Tom's was the other. At one point during that investigation, which included the internal affairs department of the NYPD, doubt had even been cast as to Demming's integrity in police business. It had only appeared that way; he proved to be completely on the up and up. After the case closed, Tom continued to see Kate on and off. Castle could understand that. After all they worked for the same employer and in the same building. The situation for which Castle was mentally berating himself was the answer he had given to Tom Demming those many months ago. Demming had noticed there was a possible triangle involving the affections and attentions of Kate Beckett. He and Kate had met together a few times and he was beginning to take a real interest in her. He was discrete about it because the NYPD had a policy about fraternizing with the fellow members of the force during office hours meaning that the conduct had better remain professional at all times. But he had noticed the change of expressions on both Kate's and Richard's faces on the occasions he chose to show up. So, he had asked Richard Castle directly as to whether there was something going on with Kate. Castle had chosen truth over politics. Looking back at it he began to wonder if he had done the right thing. Richard Castle and Kate Beckett had a relationship, but it was not a serious relationship. They weren't dating. They weren't truly in love with one another, (or were they?), but they were indeed attracted to one another in a big way, wanting to see each other as often as possible. Castle had kept up the additional research ploy so as to extend the time they spent together; and deep inside Kate was perfectly happy see him every day although she sometimes verbalized otherwise. Demming had been a perfect gentleman about the whole thing. He didn't want to intrude. He had discretely approached Castle and had asked:

"Is there something serious between you two? . . . Because if there is, I'll understand."

"No, nothing special . . . no flag on the play," Castle had innocently replied.

So, Tom Demming took that as a green light. Why should he have taken it as anything else? There was no guile between them; nothing had been done in a snide or taunting way. Yet, Castle still felt that tinge of jealousy in the depth of his breast. Now there was a change of expression on Kate's face when Demming would show up; and Castle was sure there was a change on his own. There had to be; he felt it inside. Kate kept on driving and left him alone with his thoughts. Why was the word: 'complicated' always used when either he or Kate dared to verbalize anything about their relationship?

At length, they arrived and miraculously found parking right in front of the office building. If Castle had not been in such a somber mood, he would have burst out like a little kid in a candy store. The Spy Ventures claim to authenticity was reflected in its slick advertising images. The lobby was amazing. There were wall murals depicting some of the most famous spy scenes ever written or filmed. 'Your Imagination is Our Limit' was part of the introductory slogan. The place seemed true to its website. Kate identified herself and asked for the sales manager. As they waited a few minutes in the lobby, Kate realized her rather harsh interchange with Richard had dampened his outlook. It was obvious. He studied the details in the lobby but kept his normally exuberant expressions to himself regarding how cool the 'Spy-cations' concept was. She could imagine him buying a package during a weak moment. At the same time, she was sorry that she had dampened his spirits. He was normally so much fun to have along for the ride; nevertheless, she realized she had work to do.

A moment later they were shown into the main office and operations area. It featured glass walled cubicle-like offices all along the perimeter. It seemed a little like the precinct except it felt lighter and more open; not to mention more modern and sophisticated. There was a large oval conference table in the center area. Suspended above it was a frosted glass ceiling with soft back lighting. The main feature was a target zero; and depicted as if he had just landed on that target was an intelligence agent all decked out with the tools of his trade. The décor continued with numerous other spy related images and memorabilia placed around the office area in general so as to remind the workers there of the business they were handling. Kate and Richard listed carefully to the description as to how the program worked. A player could purchase anything from a one day to a two-week adventure package.

"So, if this is your center of operations, why do you require that all business correspondence go to an address in the Cayman Islands?" asked Kate.

"Oh, you wouldn't believe how excited most of the participants get when they have to send their payments to an offshore account," replied the accounting assistant.

Everything about the adventure would be set up and staged something like a cross between 'Fantasy Island' and 'Disney World'. There was no script, at least none the players could surmise, and that was why each adventure could unfold in a number of surprising ways. Each player was given instructions as to what to accomplish; how they did it was mostly up to them. The assignment had various deadlines that the players had to meet in order to be successful on their mission and to possibly gain a bonus assignment; that was how they kept the game running to its final conclusion by the end of the particular participant's package. Now Kate understood why their Hans, back in holding, had been thinking his arrest was part of the experience right up to the last minute.

Kate showed the manager a picture of murder victim. It had become obvious that Sean Caldwell was not his real name, but that of the Spy Ventures character he had chosen to become. Fortunately for Kate the Spy Ventures check-in process included a photograph of each player before and after their respective entry into the world of spies. The manager took the photo to one of the office staff. They found the match and handed over the business file. It turned out that the victim's real name was Roger Farraday, who had purchased a four-day package for covert ops; ending in the staged assassination of a UN diplomat. At that point, the manager called over another office worker named Hugo Morrison. Hugo was in charge of all the accessories the wanna-be spies needed for their missions. Hugo checked the list of what agent Sean Caldwell had been issued. He had been issued a car, ID's, an assassin's rifle, and the dossier with his mission; in the middle of the mission he had to retrieve a pen and lapel pin set at a predetermined drop point.

"Does this authentic experience include a real murder?"

Kate interjected so as to remind everyone present that one of their players was really dead. No, it certainly did not, the manager clarified. The guns looked real, felt real, but were completely incapable of firing live ammunition; but had been rigged for game play. The target wore a sensor that would tell when he or she had been hit. Oh yeah, and add laser tag to the list of fantasies thought Kate as she recalled Castle's description of the ongoing laser tag contest between him and his daughter. But again, safety was paramount re-emphasized the manager.

"If someone committed a murder they had used their own weapon, not one of ours," the manager concluded.

"What if something goes wrong and a player has some kind of problem or emergency?" Kate wanted to know.

"We man a hot-line number twenty-four hours a day to handle problems in the field . . . all they have to do is find a phone and give it a call . . . the person on duty will take care of it," responded the manager.

"So, if the guns are fake do you use real money?" was Kate's next question.

"Well, yeah we have done currency drops as part of the assignments, but not with real money," he explained.

"Well we found our victim, your player, in possession of a real stack of €5000."

By this time the accounting assistant had joined the group upon hearing about real money.

"That would be impossible," she interjected, "that was more than he had paid for his entire package."

Recalling the scene at the café Kate went on to asked if anyone else was directly involved with Roger Farraday's fantasy operation. She had reason to believe there was still more than they were letting on. It seemed they were taking their fake spy operation quite seriously. Well yes, they admitted, team members could often be paired up to accomplish a mission; they didn't necessarily have to know each other.

The collective investigative team moved over to Jason Penn's cubicle. Jason had been assigned to look after Roger Farraday during the experience.

"Yes, I was the mission planner," he said as if the mission had been real life.

He pulled down an assignment notebook, which outlined how the experience was to unfold. Jason confirmed that the agent Sean Caldwell was to meet up with another agent from French Intelligence. They looked at that player's pictures.

"Do you recognize her?" Kate asked as she turned to Castle.

"Me Oui," was his reply with his best attempt at sounding French.

The real person was Andrea Fisher, who lived in Long Island. They took down all the pertinent details, thanked the Spy Ventures staff for their help, and reminded them that they might have to answer additional questions later. Then they were on their way. The next stop was a house in Long Island, where some woman, who had developed a passion for living the life of a spy, needed to answer some questions about her behavior at the café Mulan on an otherwise lazy Sunday afternoon when normal moms were spending time with their families.

At least they came away with two real names linked to two real people, one of them was dead, and they hoped the other was still alive and well, and ready to talk. Kate called in the identity of the victim and the contact information he had left for whom to contact in an emergency. His wife and his business partner were about to receive a phone call with distressing news. No one named Roger Farraday, living in the boroughs had been reported missing so Kate assumed the wife and partner still thought everything was normal. At least Kate was not aware of any coincidental disappearance. She knew the rest of the team would check. With that detail covered, they started their trip.

They made their way slowly, diagonally across town from west to east in order to use the Williamsburg Bridge. Richard had lightened up just a bit, most likely due to the new twists in the case. It was starting to get interesting again, having gone from simple tragedy to a mystery as to who perpetrated such a tragedy. Kate started the conversation. She apologized for having been so harsh about the new book. She had known full well that he had embarked on a whole series of Nikki Heat novels; and if she had endured the fallout from his opus, why would this one be any worse. Normally he was good at brushing things off but on this occasion, he seemed to be much more affected, if not sensitive, about the verbal attack. She had to admit to herself that she was his muse even though she had threatened him in the past by saying that if he called her that again, she'd take out her gun and shoot him. She had made it sound serious enough that he desisted and had not ever mentioned it afterward. She turned the conversation toward Andrea Fisher. The application had asked for a reasonable amount of family background. Kate figured Spy Ventures might not only require it for legal purposes but perhaps to tailor some items in the experience based on it. Mrs. Fisher was married, and a mother of three children. The family income was modest, and Kate supposed that someone had inherited the house rather than purchased it. Her husband was in real estate so maybe that had something to do with it. Mrs. Fisher had listed her husband as the contact person in case of emergency. She didn't seem like the person to take off on a Spy Vacation weekend. Castle as well as Kate was ready to hear her story. Before leaving Manhattan and the 12th precinct's zone of operations Kate had called the contact number and found her at home. Kate had informed Mrs. Fisher that the NYPD had some questions for her and that they'd pay a visit face-to-face rather than conduct the interview over the phone. It was mid-morning when the patrol car pulled up at Mrs. Fisher's house.

After the introductions Kate and Richard found themselves with Andrea Fisher at the kitchen table for an interview. One of her children, pre-school age, was absorbed in a video or television program. Mrs. Fisher had recognized both of them from the little scene at the café. She began her story:

". . . You must have thought I was being such a fool yesterday at the café . . . I mean I was taking myself so seriously," she began with some embarrassment.

Kate informed her that the victim of a murder was a fellow player named Roger Farraday in real life. She was visibly shaken by this news; almost in tears.

"How did you know Mr. Farraday?" Kate continued.

"We were just put together on a mission as part of the game," she replied with some hesitation.

"What made you decide to try this game?" Kate pried further.

"Don't get me wrong, I love my husband, and my kids, but sometimes I just like to get away from being a mom . . . where I can have some time to myself . . . you know be myself without the constant mommy this and mommy that, and honey can you do this . . . that kind of stuff . . . so I found the website with these adventures and decided I'd try it. My husband said I could go if I could pay for it. So, it took a lot of coupon clipping and saving, but I finally made it," she replied.

It sounded plausible, but Kate wondered if this was the whole story; she might be lying or leaving something out. Castle made no comment but questioned her more about her part in the game since he had been involved directly in some of her role play.

"So, you were the French Intelligence agent?" Castle offered.

"Yes, I was supposed to supply information about the movements of our target, or rather his target, and then I was supposed to help in the execution of the assassination in whatever capacity I might be needed."

"So, what did you do after you met me and saw the other agent get arrested?" Castle queried further.

"Afterward, I went to my assigned post and I met up with my agent and we finished the mission. Our last assignment was to go together to a drop at a bus station locker. I had the location of the key; and he knew the locker number. When we opened it, there was a briefcase inside for him. I assumed it was a bonus mission because I didn't get one . . . I figured my experience was over, so I checked out using the procedure Spy Ventures gave me and headed home." she concluded confidently.

It all sounded innocent enough, but something did not add up. Castle also began to think someone was lying and said so as they found a drive-thru offering a fast-food lunch and ate it on the way back to the precinct, which was something neither of them did with any frequency. Castle was into such things as pizza and ice cream, but his preference was specialty mom and pop places, never restaurant chains. Since the drive was going to take some precious time, Kate called Ryan to inform the team about the latest details offered by Mrs. Fisher. If they really had gone to a bus depot locker there would be surveillance video of it. She asked if either he or Esposito could find the time to locate the evidence and corroborate the story. Let's also find out who put the briefcase there in the first place she added. It was early afternoon when they arrived back at the precinct. Once again on the fourth floor, Kate made her way directly to the white board to pen additional details they had uncovered so far.

"I think she's lying . . . I mean, she never mentioned if they had acquired their target." Richard repeated.

"Yeah, you know I hadn't thought of that at the time." Kate replied.

Then she made notes to that effect on the murder board. Everything seemed innocent but five bullets in a victim's chest was neither a mark of innocence nor was it accidental. Kate remarked that it would be a good idea to check into Roger Farraday's financial history over the past few months to see if there were any red flags.

"Wow, speaking of red flags . . ." Castle muttered to himself as he saw Tom Demming coming up the aisle way towards the murder board. A couple of times a week were bad enough Richard thought to himself, but two times in one day . . . this is becoming a problem. Kate drew away from him and stood close to Tom. Castle was politely far enough away but he could still hear the essential part of the conversation, or rather the proposition Tom was whispering:

"You know that little place in Asbury Park near the beach house I was telling you about . . . well they just had a reservation open up for Friday . . . please think about it because I have to know soon . . ."

Kate listened carefully and made sure her eyes were averted from Richard's view. She nodded she would consider it. The exchange had the same intimacy as the one earlier that day and Richard Castle was stung by it. A real hurt crept through his soul. He knew the hurt of disappointment, but this was different. The very thing that he dreaded might happen was happening right before his eyes. He waited for Tom to leave.

"I thought you said you had to work this weekend," he said quietly, but with an inflection that clearly conveyed how hurt he was that she had lied to him.

Kate felt herself in the invisible jaws of a vice. The two men she respected were pressing in from both sides. She had been caught in a lie and felt very bad for having done it to Richard.

"I'm sorry Castle, I should have just told you . . . but . . . I just didn't want things to get awkward between us . . . now that Tom and I are . . . together," she trailed off and couldn't think of anything more to add.

Castle just sat there staring into space. The few seconds of silence just emphasized how awkward things had become; they seemed like an hour.

"No, I get it." he finally responded, "You want your private life to be private."

"Yeah, I just don't . . . I don't want anyone to feel uncomfortable." she interjected.

"No of course not," he quickly replied, "Actually . . . that makes what I'm going to say a little easier. Well, with my book due . . . I was thinking it would be a good time for us to take a little break."

"A break?" she inquired with an inflection of astonishment clearly evident.

"Yeah, God knows you've got to be tired of me following you around all the time; and I've really got to get some work done. With everyone gone, I figured I'd just stay up at the Hamptons . . . you know . . . and get away from the city for a while."

"Well, for how long?" she asked weakly.

"The summer at least . . . maybe longer if necessary . . . I thought this would be our last case together." he said with a degree of finality.

Kate had taken a seat at her desk. Castle had swung the extra chair around ninety degrees to directly face her at close range. She had swiveled hers to face him. When he had finished she turned it back to face her desk. Kate both looked and felt like she was going to be sick. The temperature in the precinct office felt like it had risen to one hundred degrees. They fell into silence, and to make matters worse, Ryan and Esposito were making their way over to Kate's desk to report that they had received and reviewed video footage from the bus lockers. In all the time the other two detectives had observed Kate and Richard on the job, they had seen some pretty crazy antics, and some strange expressions to go along with them, but what they witnessed at that moment was something they had never seen.

"Is everything all right?" they asked in unison.

Kate replied that everything was all right. But things did not look all right. As they got closer, Richard Castle turned his face away momentarily while Kate tried to compose herself as well as pay attention to the latest developments in the case. She wasn't doing her normal stellar job at it though.

"The story from Mrs. Fisher checked out. We also confirmed that someone from Spy Ventures did put a briefcase in bus locker 27B," Ryan concluded.

Kate tried her best to acknowledge the report. If there had been any doubt in the detectives' minds as to Kate's composure, it had been clarified at that moment. There was something seriously upsetting going on between the two.

"Don't you want to know who put it there?" asked Esposito.

Kate finally pulled herself together. Castle remained in the background; just close enough to hear what was transpiring between the team members.

"Well yes, who was it?" Kate demanded.

"It was Hugo Morrison, from Spy Ventures," Esposito responded.

"Well, let's get him down here to answer a few questions," Kate replied, having regained a modicum of control.

They sent a patrol car over to the Spy Ventures office and the officers delivered Hugo Morrison to the fourth floor of the precinct about an hour later. Kate re-introduced herself and Richard, hoping he'd remember them from earlier that morning. He remembered. They ushered him over to the interrogation room. Castle was allowed to accompany Kate for this suspect.

"So, Hugo, you're the quartermaster for Spy Ventures so to speak, what can you tell me about your job?" Kate began.

"Well, as you saw, I work with all the props for the spy game; part of my job is to produce all the custom, fake ID's for the participants.

"What was in the briefcase Hugo? . . . You failed to include that on your accessories list . . . we know you put it in the locker," Kate pried.

"The problem is that with the company's equipment, you can produce copies of real passports," he confessed.

"Which is illegal, but you did it anyway," Kate added.

Castle perked up when he heard that part. Hugo nodded a 'yes' in response to Kate's remark.

"At first, I didn't want to, but they were offering so much money . . ." Hugo continued.

"Five thousand Euros," interjected Castle.

Again, Hugo nodded. It turned out that a bunch of Ukrainian students had found his contact information on the internet and offered him the huge sum of money to produce the fake passports and student ID's. What the students didn't know was that they could have found someone willing to do it for a third of that price. But Hugo was the first contact they had discovered, and they collectively decided to go for it. To further insulate himself from the deed, Hugo worked in the exchange as part of one of the spy missions. The Spy Ventures participant would get a bonus mission to make the drop and collect the cash. In turn, the cash would be placed at a drop point where Hugo could go claim it at his leisure.

"Something must have gone wrong . . . maybe I messed up the passport information, and they found out, and they killed him . . . I don't know," he theorized. "That wasn't supposed to happen" he said, as he became more distraught over what he had caused. "I should have known something was up," he continued, ". . . around 11:30 PM he called, I was on duty that night, and said he was being followed."

"By a dark sedan," added Castle.

"Yeah . . . I blew him off . . . gave the standard spiel about the line not being secure and we could not talk . . . Look, the game makes you paranoid, so I thought he was just having a moment like that . . . but he called again around midnight saying he was being pursued and wanted the location of the safe house . . . again I gave him the standard answer . . . I didn't know . . . and now he's dead," Hugo concluded, having become very upset.

"I need an address . . . Now Hugo!" Kate demanded.

He relented and gave her the information. They let Hugo Morrison return to his workplace. It had become obvious that the next step was to find the Ukrainian students and shake them down in search of a possible motive. After the interrogation, Castle left to get some errands done before Alexis and Martha ran out of time, then later headed home. He didn't have the desire to go anywhere near the precinct any longer. While Kate was in the process of releasing Hugo, Castle just left without saying goodbye to anyone on the team. It was only about an hour later that everyone realized he had disappeared. The unusual afternoon set both Ryan and Esposito to wondering what really had happened; however, they didn't have time to give it any more thought. They were arranging an entry and search permit for the address Hugo had revealed. They also assembled several members of a SWAT team just for good measure. The NYPD had previous experience with members of a Ukrainian gang, and things had proven to be very violent and dangerous. They wanted to be prepared in case these so-called students had any gang members as friends. Meanwhile Kate kept to herself by doing paperwork at her desk. To everyone's relief Tom Demming did not reappear for the rest of the afternoon.

Early on Tuesday morning, before the average college student was out and about, the NYPD staged a raid on the apartment where the students had collected their fake ID's. The place was low rent, as one might expect, and situated not too far from one of the smaller universities in the city. The raiding party consisted of Ryan and Esposito accompanied by two SWAT-trained uniformed police members as the team making the initial entry. Two more trained uniforms were stationed at each end of the hallway. There were four more trained members monitoring the building from the outside. A helicopter was on call if needed. On the signal, the party made its entrance loudly identifying themselves, guns drawn, and bright lights sweeping the room. The sleep deprived students became completely disoriented and wondered if this was happening in the United States or was it a bad dream likened to something from back home. It seemed their world was coming to an end as six terrified individuals were rounded up and stood against the wall. A few moments later it was all over. Ryan and Esposito were keeping an eye on the group that had been rounded up while the other two members checked all the rooms and closets and under the beds. No one else turned up. When the 'Clear' signal was given, the two detectives finally relaxed just enough to study the inhabitants. What they saw were six teenagers, with looks that indicated that they wished to die, yet at the same time were hoping not to. They were just students, and academic weenies at that.

"They're just kids . . ." Esposito remarked to Ryan as the adrenaline began to subside.

A couple of the other apartment doors had been pushed ajar for the curious inhabitants to see what might be going on given all the loud commotion. Those same doors were promptly closed and locked when it was discovered the noise makers were the police. Afterward it seemed the rest of the inhabitants of the building were too scared to make the slightest sound. Six patrol cars, one for each student, took their passengers back to the 12th precinct for questioning.

Richard Castle found the courage to report to the precinct near mid-morning. He knew that if either Ryan or Esposito met him on the way in he'd get the full 'Oh hey bro, did you oversleep again?' treatment. To his surprise, he found no one in Kate's section of the department. He popped into the observation room next to the interrogation box. The view through the one-way mirror revealed Esposito and Ryan's whereabouts. They were still getting the statements from the college students. Kate was elsewhere, and Richard didn't particularly want to know where. The questioning party was just breaking up, so Castle stepped into the aisle way just as Ryan and Esposito where exiting the interrogation room, leaving the students still seated in there with the door closed.

"So those were the Ukrainians . . ." Castle began as Kate walked up to the group.

"Yeah, that's it . . . they are Ukrainian students . . . they could drink back home, but they have to be twenty-one to buy booze here in the US. They got Hugo's name from another kid at a summer program at Hudson University," Esposito summarized.

"Summer program!" exclaimed Castle.

"Yeah, what about it?" Esposito wanted to know.

"Oh, nothing," Castle remarked, hoping they would drop the subject.

Kate smiled slightly as she read his mind; knowing that Alexis was soon to embark on just such a thing.

"None of them own a dark sedan; and seeing as they all went partying as soon as they got their ID's, it's doubtful they had anything to do with Farraday's murder," Esposito concluded.

The team agreed it was okay to let the kids go. They could go to the exit desk and pick up single-ride MTA cards for transportation back to their apartment. Kate reminded Ryan to keep checking on the progress of the financial records for the victim and the others surrounding him. If any data turned up regarding travels each had taken over the couple of days surrounding the vic's death that would be good to have as well. Richard Castle and Kate Beckett were individually trying to process and somehow justify what had transpired between them on Monday. Castle, for his part, could not even stand the thought of Tom Demming coming down the aisle to see Kate; much less witness it once more. He said he was sorry, but he couldn't stay longer since there was some personal business had had to attend to. He gave a long glance at Kate before he turned to go. She had almost expected him to say 'Tomorrow' like he always did, but the familiar word was not forthcoming. Kate realized that the situation had not only become awkward but also complicated.

On Wednesday morning Castle did not care to go to the precinct office; rather he called Esposito to see if there had been any developments on the case. Esposito was somewhat surprised that the call came to him rather than Kate but seeing as she was not at her desk at that moment, he assumed that his extension was the next one in line. Esposito informed him that they were still waiting on traffic camera video files, trip reports, and financial reports for the persons of interest. Not much new had happened. Esposito took the opportunity to see what was on Castle's mind.

"What's going on bro?" he began, "We used to see you bright and early almost every morning, coffees in hand, ready to put in another crime fight'n day . . . now you don't want to come in and see us anymore," he added.

"Well, Kate and I had a little discussion on Monday," he began.

"I'll say you did," interrupted Esposito.

"I've been getting really far behind on my latest manuscript . . . not to mention that Kate seems to be less than enthused with the theme . . . so I told her this Spy Ventures case would be our last one together for a while."

"Yeah, Kate mentioned something about that," replied Esposito. "Are you planning on coming back at some point?"

"Yeah, I'd like to hope so; after I get this next book out of the way."

"You know; we're going to miss you around here," Esposito stated with all sincerity.

"Thanks."

"Hey Castle, you are going to hang around until the case closure party, right?" Esposito voiced his hope.

"Oh yeah, I wouldn't want to miss that. Let me know if something new pops up . . . bye," he said as he pushed the off button.

He wanted to believe that the case closure wasn't going to be too far off. All that would be needed was for one new piece to surface then all the rest would most likely fall in around it; at least that had been his experience for a majority of both the real and imagined cases over past couple of years. He sat at his desk, the manuscript still demanded his attention. Miraculously, Gina had not called him in the last forty-eight hours. He figured she must be chasing down some other delinquent writer; either that or she might be talking to Black Pawn's legal department in order to really put some serious contractual pressure on him to deliver or else. He shuddered at the 'or else' part. Yes, back to the manuscript. Writing was hard enough when things were going smoothly; it was worse given his present situation. Castle opened the story board and began tweaking the series of past events and marking the places where text edits would be needed. After about three hours he began making good headway. The day slipped by and he worked well into the night without disturbance. He wondered briefly what Alexis and Martha were up to. As he grabbed a snack from the kitchen, he found a post-it note, in his mother's handwriting, stuck to the refrigerator door to the effect that James Patterson had called and said that he was coming to the poker game tomorrow, but he would be a little late. Yeah, he's probably going to use the time to finish another book Castle muttered to himself; mentally comparing Paterson's prolific output with his own meager efforts of late. With snack, note, and computer in hand, retired to his bedroom. As he was arranging things for the evening another disturbing thought struck him. Maybe that was why there were no missed calls and no voice mail messages. Maybe Martha had been taking the calls while he was out. He wondered what kind of discussion she and Gina might have had.

Thursday morning brought a bustle of activity in the loft apartment. Apparently, Alexis and Martha had returned sometime after Richard had drifted off to sleep seeing that his computer was still on but in the dormant mode. He set it aside for the time being and made himself civilized. There was plenty to accomplish before the evening. Not only did he have to help get Martha ready for her departure, he had to get the place arranged and stocked for the poker game. After breakfast, he left on a final shopping tour with his mother. Alexis was still stressing out over what to pack for her trip. They left her to her own devices and decisions. A little after two o'clock they arrived back at the loft, each with their own cargo. Richard had all the party stuff and Martha had all the last-minute travel stuff. Richard experienced yet another miracle when his mother announced she was all packed and ready with enough time to comfortably transport her to the departure location for the charter bus that was taking the whole summer theater group on the road. The threesome gathered in the living room to say their goodbyes for the summer. Richard got the car and took Martha to the departure point. The precinct office was not that far out of the way so on the return trip he decided to stop by just to see if there were any further developments. He checked for missed calls only to find that there had not been any. It was already getting late in the day when he arrived. Kate was not at her desk. He questioned Ryan as to her possible whereabouts. Ryan thought she might have gone down to the second floor to check on something, which was the answer Castle had been dreading to hear. Meanwhile he got himself back up to speed regarding all of the latest developments although there wasn't much new. The investigation seemed to be stalled at the identity and the owner of a dark sedan that had been following the victim's rented car. After about an hour, Kate returned to her desk. Richard had almost given up and left for the evening. Kate was surprised yet glad to see him. She had begun to wonder if she would have the chance to speak to him again; or if he was even planning on being around when the case was solved. He assured her he would be on hand for that. They went over to the murder board together and stood close to one another. Kate somehow expected Castle to stay and help her like he had done many times in the past. It looked for a moment that such might have been his intention when he said:

"Do you really think he was being followed?"

They briefly discussed the merits of that theory. Then to her surprise, he said:

"Well as much as I'd like to help you run down every dark sedan in the city, I have a poker game to host . . . see you in the morning."

"Ok, see you," she replied rather uncertainly.

Without another word he disappeared down the aisle toward the elevator. She stood at the murder board still looking in the direction of the closed elevator doors. After he had gone, Esposito, who had overheard the exchange, came up and offered his thoughts on the developments over that past few days. Since it was Castle's last case with them they figured it would be nice to throw a little going away party for him. Kate replied that it wasn't like it was going to be forever. Esposito countered:

"Are you sure about that?" Why do you think he's been following you around all this time . . .? For research? . . . The guy's done enough research to write fifty books by now . . . Well, whatever the reason is; I'm sure it doesn't involve you being with another guy."

Having said his peace, he turned away leaving Kate alone at the murder board. A deep pensive look spread across her face. She just stood there trying to concentrate on the case; it wasn't working. She returned to her desk, sat down, and stared straight ahead. The office had become very quiet. The week had started out so promising but now all she seemed to have were dead ends.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: I hope you enjoy the less choppy, plot-line tweaked, and somewhat improved version. We continue in season 2, episode 24: "A Deadly Game" with the two game players, the ones trying to solve the case, experiencing the unexpected consequences of their actions. Mostly canon mixed with some addition dialog and previously unexpressed thoughts._

 _Disclaimer: I do not own Castle – all credit goes to Andrew Marlow and the writing team for ABC's Castle; my thanks to them for providing a foundation for this little exercise._

5

Castle hurried home in order to get the loft set up for the visitors. This poker game with this particular group of his friends had become something akin to tradition over the past few years. The goal was to meet about monthly or every six weeks depending on the ability of the attendees to clear their collective calendars for a few hours without upsetting spouses, girlfriends, family members, publishing agents, or department managers with pressing issues. Furthermore, not everyone had family residences in NYC; consequently, these arrangements had to be made as part of their travel plans. It was an elite group, each with loads of responsibilities, so postponements were to be expected.

Castle had met Mayor Weldon at a benefit dinner near the beginning of the mayoral campaign. Weldon had recognized the name immediately; he was a great fan of Castle's work and had been captivated by the Derrick Storm series. He believed in finding the time to read. It was a form of desperately needed relaxation; and Castle's stories were as twisted as politics, but at least they had a solution. Even after the Mayor found his way into office, they kept in touch.

The writers had impressive resumes. Castle was both proud and glad to be in their company. Up to this point, Stephen J. Cannel had created or co-created several dozen successful TV series from the 1970s to the 1990s, often with his creative partner Frank Lupo. Cannell's creations included _The Rockford Files_ , _The A-Team_ , _The Greatest American Hero_ , _21 Jump Street_ , and _The Commish_. The list was over three hundred scripts. To see his accomplishments, one could not imagine that he suffered from undiagnosed dyslexia, which made it nearly impossible from him to do well in high school; nevertheless, it was back then he declared he wanted to be a writer. He also wrote novels, notably the _Shane Scully_ mystery series. Unfortunately, Cannel had been having a string of good days alternating with bad on things pertaining to his health. He was keeping developments rather close to the vest and no one ventured to ask for more details. The good news was that he seemed to be in fine form of late.

Then there was James B. Patterson. His early novels featured a fictional psychologist Alex Cross, the protagonist of the _Alex Cross_ series. Patterson also wrote the _Michael Bennett_ , _Women's Murder Club_ , _Maximum Ride_ , _Daniel X_ , and _Witch and Wizard_ series, as well as many stand-alone thrillers, non-fiction and romance novels. His books had sold more than three hundred million copies and he was currently holding the Guinness World Record for being the first person to sell one million e-books. As far as Castle was concerned, there was no topping Patterson. The constant flow of ideas and plots, and the number of things he had in the works simultaneously was simply mind boggling.

Certainly not least, there was Michael Connelly. Michael decided to become a writer after discovering the books of Raymond Chandler while attending the University of Florida. Once he decided on that direction he chose a major in journalism and a minor in creative writing — a curriculum in which one of his teachers was novelist Harry Crews. After graduating in 1980, Connelly worked at newspapers in Daytona Beach and Fort Lauderdale, Florida, primarily specializing in the crime beat. The Florida, and later the California, experience gave him the impetus to author detective novels and other crime fiction, notably those featuring LAPD Detective Hieronymus 'Harry' Bosch and criminal defense attorney Mickey Haller. Harry Bosch and Connelly received a good deal of publicity in 1994, when U.S. President Bill Clinton came out of a bookstore carrying a copy of _The Concrete Blonde_ in front of the waiting cameras. According to Connelly, it was a big honor to have such a famous fan. Connelly had been the President of the Mystery Writers of America from 2003 to 2004.

The evening finally arrived. The mayor had called to say that he was going to be late at best; or perhaps not there at all, due some issue developing over the past couple of days. Castle remembered Martha's post-it note saying James Patterson had called earlier to say he would also be running a little bit late as well. Meanwhile, Castle met his fellow wordsmiths as they arrived at the loft. He had taken his leave rather late in the day from the precinct house. It appeared for a moment that Beckett had expected him to stay around for a while and continue puzzling over details of the case, but he had quashed that moment quite firmly with his parting comment.

After the literary contingent had assembled, they decided to play a few practice hands while waiting for the Mayor's arrival. Castle may have been able to hold his own at poker, but he was the newbie among the experienced on the literary levels and in life experiences in general. They, like his mother, enjoyed reminding him that there was always more growing up to do. As usual, the three visitors liked to hear the latest and greatest regarding Castle's experiences with the 12th precinct and with Beckett in particular. The real-world murder case files were as inspiring to them as they were to Castle. They also liked to tease Castle about his involvement with Beckett. Castle began the small talk by filling them in on the latest case that had just landed their way earlier in the week. They all agreed that Castle had been rather busy; at least at solving crime.

"A murder, in the middle of a spy game, where nobody knows what's really going on . . . I really like that!" snorted Cannel.

"The Ukrainians are a nice twist," added Connelly.

Consequently, Castle recapped the mystery: "So, we've explained the money, the gadgets, and the brief case; the only thing we can't explain is, why was he killed?"

"Maybe that's because you're looking in the wrong place," remarked Patterson.

Castle inquired, "Alright Patterson, if you were writing this, where would you look?"

"If I was writing this, the murder would have nothing to do with the spy game," Patterson continued, "Except it gave him an opportunity to act."

". . . Knowing that the trappings of the game would cover his tracks," concluded Connelly.

Cannel chimed in: ". . . Which is pretty much what has happened. Look Rick, as much trouble as we go through to write these novels, there are still only three reasons to commit a murder: love, money, and to cover up another crime."

"Cannel's right, I'd spend more time looking at your victim and less time looking at the game," added Connelly.

In a yet more serious tone, Patterson went on to admonish Castle: "Personally I'd spend more time writing; and less time hanging out with that cop friend of yours . . . I mean, really Rick, just one book a year?"

And Cannel again quipped: "Kind'a thin Rick" . . . "She seems like more like a distraction, than a muse."

Castle sat back and let the tone of the conversation really sink in. There was no whining about how hard it was to write, or any such blah, blah, blah with his immediate audience. They had him pinned with precision.

Castle replied: "No, you're right . . . I think I've gotten everything I can get out of that relationship anyway." He seemed to gaze into the distance as he said it.

Castle anted up and the poker hand continued. It looked like the Mayor wasn't going to make it. Castle silently wondered how the evening would have turned out if he had shown up. He doubted he would have gained the insights offered by his three writing companions if an extra player had been included. They shifted to the more serious part of poker. Adding some real money to the game allowed each to practice their subtle communication as to plot twists and ruses. How committed to one's cause would one dare become? The bets weren't extravagant; no one was going to lose a house or a car in the game, but one hundred-dollar bills had been known to appear on the table just to emphasize a point. On this particular evening it pretty much evened out. The game finished up around midnight. After all, some folks had to go to work in the morning while shooting Castle a knowing look.

After his guests had left, Castle set to work packing up the poker paraphernalia, closed up the bar, and cleaned up the kitchen and the crumbs from the snacks. He made his way to his bedroom. He found a note on his pillow. Alexis had left it to inform him she was home and had slipped upstairs while he was saying his goodbyes to his comrades - and PS: Don't forget about tomorrow, it concluded. That allowed Castle to begin thinking about his next steps. His trip to Princeton, NJ with Alexis was a given. He still had to come to terms with Gina; that too was a given. He decided that sooner would be better than later. He checked the time, 12:40 AM. It was late, but not too late so he decided to risk it. There went the first ring. He began to think about why he and Gina always seemed to derail after they'd been together for over an hour. He hoped he wasn't going to catch her in a particularly bad mood. The call was on the third ring. This was probably going to wake her, and he was sure things weren't going to turn out well in that case. As the fourth ring started, she picked up.

"Hi, it's Richard . . . I hope you weren't either asleep or busy," he said apologetically.

"I have caller ID . . . and no, I was just starting to get ready for bed . . . so don't worry.".

"Look, I was thinking . . ."

"Thinking about telling me why you haven't finished your manuscript," she interjected, but with more of a teasing tone than a demand.

"Well yes, that's just it . . . I'd like to declare a truce," he added, "I really need to make some progress on this . . . and with you and me at war . . . I can't concentrate at all."

"Uh huh, I'm listening."

"Look, the truth is, it's going to take another two to three months at best," he confessed.

"That's going to be a hard sell to the business suits at Black Pawn."

They went on talking about all the things that had made life easier for each of them in the past; how the Derrick Storm series had been a great ride. As he said good night, he looked at the clock beside the bed, it displayed 2:05 AM.

Back at the homicide office Kate Beckett continued to sit at her desk. It was going on 6:00 PM. She shifted her gaze toward the murder board; she didn't get up. She glanced at the empty chair where Castle normally sat. He was playing poker, laughing it up with his buddies, while she was stuck with a murder case. She was also stuck with some decisions regarding Tom Demming. She had acquiesced to a dinner date in order to discuss where they were headed in their relationship; and if it was serious enough to spend the Memorial Day weekend together. The office was dead quiet. The hum of the overhead lights was becoming annoying. She went to the internet and searched out a streaming audio application. She queued up a number of songs; and also let the app insert a few 'selected for you' numbers based on what she had already picked. The music had the desired effect; it pushed the humming lights into the background and calmed her mind somewhat.

She returned to her paperwork. She called up the digital case file on the computer and went over every note they had entered so far; including Castle's theory about spies and a professional hit. Maybe it had nothing to do with the game; she didn't know. She stared hard at the empty chair. About that time the familiar lyrics of 'Into the Blue', the Sara Jackson Holman version of it, reached her ears:

". . . If only if only I had the luxury of retrospect

Sounds like you're speaking some sort of foreign dialect

If only something precious as time had a price

Instead of endlessly taking its toll on my soul

Oh so many if only's running through my mind . . ."

At times it seemed as if Castle was speaking a foreign dialect. His approach to the crime was so very different from hers. She remembered having become so disgusted with his attitude on their first cases together. She really cared about the victims. He appeared to think it was all some kind of game of cheap thrills or something. When she had asked him seriously about why he was even bothering, he had told her it was about the stories; that everything had a story behind it. Yeah, there was a story behind her situation and things were going to change. She felt it keenly. There had been an unintentional turning point over the past few days. She had caused it. If she continued to pretend nothing significant had happened between them, then September or October would be sure to arrive _without_ Richard Castle. There would be questions. Why didn't he call? Why didn't she call him? There would eventually be realizations. Perhaps the Nikki Heat series would stop at three books; or worse yet, it would take a different turn; a change in personality and a change in relationship with the other characters; and everyone who knew that Kate Beckett was the original inspiration for Nikki Heat would come to know that she had been replaced by a new source of inspiration along the line. Castle's true inner feelings would somehow mix with the ink applied to the printed page - that was inevitable. At work things would slowly return to the way they were before the two had been thrust together by the off-beat circumstances on that copy-cat murder case; but with the big difference being the tribal knowledge the homicide team retained from nearly two years of his presence. They would know that it somehow had not worked out as everyone had hoped. She knew there were so many in the office secretly cheering for her, having overheard some of the hushed talk. Depending on who was talking, it wasn't just involvement with Richard Castle; it was regarding a healthy relationship with the right man they were betting on. They wanted her to be happy. They were glad that she had broken out of her shell and become something more than the all work – no play, overly serious, by-the-book, homicide cop they had all experienced when she first joined the department. She was glad she had evolved; did she want to return to the former Kate? She asked herself what she had been thinking. Here she was, a very good-looking female cop who, since high school, could attract any man she cast her eye upon. She could do better than that; all she had to do was just stand in the middle of a room to attract male attention. She was good at keeping men at a distance. But now, here she was, momentarily giddy that two men were showering affections on her simultaneously. What league did she think she was playing in anyway? These men were both equally handsome, suave gentlemen, who didn't have to sit at home on any Friday or Saturday night if they didn't want to. Attractions worked the opposite way and especially so with Castle. Women from all walks of life could spot him and they had no hesitation on coming over to him and introducing themselves. Castle wasn't the least bit intimidated by her 'man tactics', yet he wasn't arrogantly self-assured either. If only she hadn't been so mean spirited with him at times. He was never spiteful; he was always there for her. If only she had been more discerning. If only she had been more discrete in her communication with Tom, maybe she could have had more time to sort out her feelings.

Why hadn't she made the moves to get closer to Richard? Part of her kept urging to 'go for it' yet another inner voice kept admonishing to keep her distance. She loved to have him around so much so that sometimes she couldn't get enough of him. He could be very annoying when the teenager in a thirty-five-year-old man's body manifested itself. She recalled the list of misdemeanors in his police file. Upon reading it one might conclude he was still living in a fraternity house somewhere rather than a posh and sophisticated loft apartment. On the other hand, the man was kind and patient with people in general; a quality sorely lacking in NYC. He was generous. She remembered that within a couple of weeks after he had been allowed to consult for the precinct, a large box had arrived at the office. It turned out to be a very deluxe coffee machine as a gift for the precinct because Castle felt that no one who had jobs as hard as theirs should have to suffer with poor tasting coffee. He did it when he hardly knew anyone. There was no one in particular to impress; the captain was not a big coffee drinker. It was just Castle's way of showing thanks. He could be flashy but generally he was not. He wasn't a boor; rather he was the antithesis of one. He was comfortable in the most formal situations, he could attend an embassy dinner party, or he could be equally comfortable eating a hamburger and fries at a place like Remy's. He was eclectic; his extensive research for his books made him that way. He had impeccable taste in food and wine allowing her to enjoy countless evenings with those lavish trappings by now, but she had refused to go out on formal dates with him. The closest they ever got were the case closure meetings at the office and once or twice for a hamburger at Remy's within walking distance of the precinct. And then there was the daily coffee ritual; he never failed to bring her one. She made the effort to dig deeper as to her motives and hesitations. She admitted to herself that she was somewhat scared of him. He was hard to fathom yet he could read people very well. She remembered the cold read he did on her the evening of their first meeting. He had hit so close to home; even now the memory gave her a shudder. They had traded hints and tidbits about her past; and her mother's unsolved murder in particular, but it had always become a sore subject. On one hand he was all for helping her solve the case, but on the other he didn't want to upset her. He had always let her set the boundaries and the pace in that area and in their relationship as a whole. And that was just the point. She was in control for all that time and she feared she would quickly find herself in territory she couldn't handle if she simply pressed the 'ON' button. What if she crashed and burned? What if it didn't work out? It felt so complicated to her.

The music tracks, still playing in the background, had moved on to some other number. She looked back at her work. Her mind was a wreck; her concentration was down to zero. Here she was, torn on a decision between two good looking men. Like every girl should be so lucky. She decided the situation was not so enviable. Why hadn't one of them just asked her to spend a day down at Coney Island, along the boardwalk or something like that? Why the sudden stay overnight at my place question? Maybe things would have turned out different; or maybe she would have just snubbed the offeror at suggesting such a quaint idea for a date. What troubled her most was that she didn't really know. She had become completely exhausted with the mental exercise; both from the case and the wrangling with her social relationships but the evening was not over. She heard footsteps approaching. It was Tom arriving to take her out as promised.

"Are you ready?" he asked gently.

She looked up at him with an expression way more passive than most people at the precinct ever saw on Kate Beckett and responded:

"Yeah, I guess I am."

He knew from prior experience how tired she could become so he did not make small talk as he put his arm around her for the walk out of the empty office. She left everything open on her desk and didn't look back.

She arrived home about the same time Castle and his friends where playing their last hand at the poker table having experienced a pleasant evening. She and Tom had chatted about numerous things going on at the precinct, even daring to touch on her professional relationship with Castle. She related some stories on how he could get most of the homicide teams in an uproar with some of his outrageous theories as to motives for murder; like the one time he had half of the staff convinced that the suspected killer was actually a zombie. She even suggested that the robbery division borrow him for a while so as to get fresh insight on a potential thief's motives. Somewhat later in the evening she worked up the courage to decline his offer for staying overnight at the beach house, but maybe she could visit for an afternoon at the beach. It was just too short notice she explained. He understood. They shared a long hug and a goodnight kiss as he dropped her off in front of her apartment building. He hoped they could connect again sometime next week. She had hoped to get some sleep to face the day ahead but all she could do was stare at the darkened ceiling of her bedroom. She remained stalled at her personal crossroads.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: I hope you enjoy the less choppy, plot-line tweaked, and somewhat improved version. We conclude season 2, episode 24: "A Deadly Game", where Caskett fans everywhere, know the painful ending, but this was really interesting to write._

 _Disclaimer: I do not own Castle – all credit goes to Andrew Marlow and the writing team for ABC's Castle; my thanks to them for providing a foundation for this little exercise._

6

Kate arrived at the precinct a little earlier than usual. She wanted to get a jump on the Friday morning rush hour not to mention collecting her thoughts and paperwork on the case, which she had left scattered over her desk the night before. Casual observers would have questioned the cause of her desk appearing in such a way. She had everything pretty much in order when Castle arrived which proved to be a good thing because he too arrived earlier than in the previous days. Then she remembered that he had to take Alexis to Princeton later that day. As he approached, she began thinking of morning coffee but to her surprise, he had not brought any for either of them. She was disappointed but said nothing. Castle took a seat in his normal place and looked at her with an expression that was more serious than usual.

"You know; I've been thinking."

Kate locked onto him and looked directly into his eyes. She wondered for a moment; no, hoped for a moment, that he might have changed his mind about the hiatus for the summer.

"Maybe we've been looking in the wrong places . . . for the answers," he continued.

The introduction was somewhat vague, but it started her thinking about how she might bring things back on course so as to be like they were before. She let him continue.

"You know . . . we got so caught up in the game . . ."

She hung on his last words, there was the well-known Castle pause, the one that allowed either him, or his audience to gather their respective thoughts, or the opportunity for someone to finish his sentence for him.

". . . that we got sidetracked as to the real killer's motive."

She was greatly let down by his concluding thought. He was talking about the case; not them.

"You know, I was thinking the very same thing myself last night," she lied, pretending to have drawn the same conclusion while hiding her disappointment.

At least one part of it was true. Kate had become so caught up in the game she was playing with the two men that she had completely lost track of where Ryan and Esposito were on the case developments. What she didn't know was that financial records had been obtained for Roger and his business partner, Lee Copley. Esposito had forgotten to post the results to the digital crime folder, but they had dispatched patrol cars to Yonkers, NY to bring back both Lee Copley and Roger's wife, Liz Farraday. Despite the commuter traffic Ryan and Esposito arrived back with the two persons of interest around 9:30 AM. Ryan briefed Kate on the financial details and other evidence they had collected the day before in order to establish motive while Esposito led Liz Farraday to one of the multi-purpose rooms, and from there, put Lee Copley in the interrogation box.

"Good morning Mr. Copley, I'm glad you could come down here to answer a few more questions," Kate began in her usual way.

"Well like I said before, I don't have much to add in the way of explanation as to my partner's death."

"Well, maybe you can explain these financial problems you're having . . . it says here you're seventy-six thousand dollars in debt and there's a bankruptcy court filing as well . . . and your business insurance policy states you'll receive five hundred thousand dollars if Roger dies . . . that sure sounds like motive to me."

"Listen, the bankruptcy stuff has been settled . . . I'm past all of that . . . I don't need the insurance payment; and besides, Roger was my friend . . . why would I want to kill him?"

"OK fine, so where were you last Friday night between 11:00 PM and 1:00 AM?" Kate demanded.

"I was home . . . in bed," he replied somewhat hesitantly.

Kate knew it was a lie. "We pulled surveillance camera footage from your parking garage and look who is seen leaving the exit gate at 8:30 PM, but not returning until 7:00 the next morning. That would be plenty of time to drive to the city and get into all kinds of trouble," Kate said emphatically.

"Umm yes, one could say that . . . I wasn't at home . . . but I was in bed . . . with his wife," he confessed.

There was a long pause. Kate looked at Castle to see if she had heard that last statement correctly. They both looked directly at Lee Copley.

"I'm sorry, what?" questioned Castle.

"I was in bed . . . with Roger's wife," repeated Lee, even more pained and embarrassed than before.

"Let me get this straight . . . your alibi for not killing your partner Roger is that you were doing, um, his wife?" Castle concluded.

Kate rolled her eyes slightly and wore a serious 'I'm disgusted with the males of this species' look.

"Yeah," Lee gasped.

"Wow!" was all Castle could manage in reply.

"You know we're going to have to verify that," Kate finished.

Lee Copley nodded agreement. They left him in the interrogation box and headed straight for the multi-purpose room to question Roger's wife. Since they were coming toward her in such a hurry, Liz Farraday surmised that her secret affair was no longer a secret. She had a completely different attitude than when she had first been informed of her husband's demise. She had shown mock outrage as to the safety of the Spy Ventures gaming; but on this occasion it was different.

"You want me to say I'm sorry. . . You want me to be embarrassed, well I'm not!" she confessed when asked to corroborate Lee's story. "All Roger cared about was work, work, work and his extreme vacations," she complained.

She went on to describe in somewhat graphic detail on how long it had been since she and her real husband had made love together.

"So yes, I was seeing Lee . . . I was with him that night . . . I'm mean why not; Roger was out playing spy again," she concluded.

"Well if things were that bad, why didn't you just get a divorce?" inquired Kate.

"Are you serious? My house is too nice."

After that response there really wasn't much more to discuss. They thanked her for her frank testimony but left her in the room for the time being. After those stories, Castle seemed to be back in his normal behavioral pattern.

"I can see why Roger needed a little extra fantasy in his life . . . I wonder what else he did to get his jollies," he commented as they were making their way back toward Ryan and Esposito.

"I still don't buy it . . . they both had motive," replied Kate.

She was possibly right. Liz would have been happy to be free of her self-absorbed husband, and the remaining business partner could always use an infusion of cash; and since they were both in it together, the whole could have been greater than the sum of the parts.

Kate had keyed into Castle's last quip about getting one's jollies. On her way back to her desk she went on about how once upon a time there weren't extreme vacations; when a man had a mid-life crisis he might decide to jump out of a plane; or buy a fancy sports car; or maybe get a new girlfriend, but murder wasn't generally in the picture. Castle listened with a big smirk since Kate had overlooked the fact that he had already done most of those things and he was still far from mid-life; at least in his book.

"Why does everything have to be unusual these days?" she wondered out loud.

"I don't know, but the only unusual thing I've found here in Roger's financials is that he wired ten thousand dollars to that off shore account for Spy Ventures," interjected Esposito while still studying the documents at his desk.

"Wait a minute," exclaimed Castle, "didn't they say those five thousand Euros were more than he paid for his entire package?"

They all collected around Esposito's desk.

"Look, there are two separate payments of five thousand dollars, one immediately after the other," Esposito said while pointing to the two lines on the screen.

Kate turned on the speaker phone and dialed the number for Spy Ventures.

"May I have the accounting department please", she inquired when the receptionist answered. "This is Kate Beckett with the NYPD homicide department, we need to verify a couple of payments made for your registrants associated with the Roger Farraday case," she stated in her all-business tone, "I need to know which registrants are associated with sequence numbers 589563 and 589565 . . . thanks . . . I'll hold."

About a minute or so later the accounting department came back on and informed the team that 589563 corresponded to a Mr. Roger Farraday; and 589565 was for a Mrs. Andrea Fisher.

"Well, well, well . . . our Long Island housewife," huffed Castle.

"She lied!" he and Kate exclaimed simultaneously.

For a moment Ryan and Esposito thought things might be returning to normal, at least the last few minutes had made it look that way, and the level of hope rose yet another degree when Kate and Castle made a bee-line toward the elevator. On the way out, Kate requested that somebody see about getting Lee and Liz processed out and on their way back to Yonkers. The real police business was on Long Island. It was close to 11:30 AM when they pulled up outside the Fisher residence. Mrs. Fisher was home with the kids. She sent them to another room to play.

"Please don't disturb mommy," she told them sternly.

"Mrs. Fisher we're here to verify your payment to Spy Ventures," Kate began innocently. "It appears your package was paid for by someone else."

"There must be some mistake," replied Andrea Fisher.

"No there's no mistake . . . the coupon clipping was a nice touch though. I suppose that was for your husband's benefit," added Castle.

"So, what was your relationship with Roger?" Kate wanted to know.

"We were . . . um, friends," replied Andrea.

"I see," Kate interjected, "and when did you first meet?"

"Last year. I was taking our daughter Shelby into Manhattan for dance lessons. I would go to the Metropolitan Museum of Art while she was in class; and he was there. We got to talking. We met in front of Monet's _Water Lilies._ We pretended to be spies, exchanging secrets. After a few weeks the museum turned into a hotel room . . . then Shelby's dance classes ended."

"So, you had no excuse to go into the city anymore," added Castle.

Andrea nodded. "Yeah, spies exchanging secrets . . . at the museum . . . so Roger thought why not have a real-life spy adventure?" Andrea continued, almost dream-like.

"So, you could get together one last time," concluded Castle.

While the little kiss and tell session was concluding they heard a car door slam and then the kitchen door in the back open a moment later.

"Please don't tell my husband!" exclaimed Andrea in a hushed tone.

"We don't have to . . . he already knows," replied Kate.

Andrea Fisher looked back at her, puzzled, as her husband, Ken Fisher, strode into the kitchen and was somewhat surprised to see that his wife had so much company. Kate turned to face him and asked:

"Mr. Fisher, do you own a black, 2009, four-door sedan?"

"Yes, I do."

"So where is it?"

"Oh, I hit a pole while backing out at the supermarket . . . so it's in the shop," he replied casually.

"You're a much better shot than you are a liar," interjected Castle, "pretty tough to cover five shots with one lie."

Mr. Fisher looked at Castle sternly, but Kate interrupted his train of thought.

"The state of New York lists you as a registered gun owner . . . a Glock 0.45 to be exact."

Meanwhile Andrea Fisher's expression began to change from one of 'what's going on here' to one of shock.

"Oh my God . . . what did you do to him?" she wailed.

Ken Fisher stared straight ahead with a distant look in his eyes.

"What he deserved," he growled in response.

His wife's look changed from shock to complete horror. She put her hand over her mouth. She turned pale and looked like she was going to be sick as she began to realize how much her little affair was going to cost the family. Tears welled up in her eyes.

"Ken Fisher, you're under arrest for the murder of Roger Farraday," were Kate's stern words as she snapped a pair of handcuffs on him and ushered him toward the door and out to a patrol car that had pulled up outside some minutes before.

They got their confession of guilt; now it was time to head home. Kate dropped Castle off at the nearest station that could offer mid-town express service from there uptown to 86th street. Castle dashed home and collected Alexis and the two of them headed out of town into New Jersey and down to Princeton. Kate returned to the precinct alone. She didn't really feel like eating lunch.

She returned to her desk and spent most of the early afternoon filing the case and arrest reports; and brooding over what her next moves would be. She knew there would be a command performance later. She checked the other case folders for photos and records of evidence; as well as Lanie's report on the condition of the victim. Now that they had access to the actual gun that had fired that bullet fragment, solid proof was in hand and with a little more work, it looked like they were ready to mark it 'Case Closed'. She met Captain Montgomery in the aisle way. He wanted to know how it all went down. She explained it had all been a game until Roger was murdered. The husband of Andrea Fisher had got onto the affair somehow and he played a little spy game of his own. He tracked down and killed his wife's lover.

"Umm . . . two affairs, a loveless marriage . . . and it was sad that a man had to die because everyone was just too scared to say what they really felt," concluded Montgomery.

"Yes, it was sad", Kate said, and she couldn't have agreed more.

She felt a small lump in her throat after she said it because she knew deep down that it was rapidly approaching the time to say what she really felt. The lump got tighter as she contemplated the next item on her agenda. She returned to her desk, swallowed hard, and punched Tom Demming's extension. When he answered she asked if he had a few minutes to spare with her upstairs. He said he'd be up in a few minutes. Meanwhile she sneaked off to the women's rest room to powder her nose. As she returned to her desk, she met Tom in the hallway just before it branched off into the aisle ways. She stopped him there; well away from the other offices and the open desks.

"Thanks for last night . . . and thanks for coming up here to meet me," she began, ". . . but I can't see you this . . ."

"It's not just this weekend we're talking about . . . is it?" he interrupted.

She nodded.

"Is it something I said . . . something I did?" he implored, looking bewildered and forlorn.

"No, you're really great . . . and I really like you," she countered very softly and sincerely, "but I don't think where we're headed is something I'm looking for right now," she tried to explain.

"What _are_ you looking for, Kate?"

She just shook her head. She couldn't answer. He took his leave, crestfallen. Things had looked so promising he thought, and now it appeared he had fallen victim to a fickle heart. Her heart was still pounding from the emotions generated by that little exchange, but it didn't have time to rest as she heard Richard Castle's voice back in the precinct. He had made his way into the general conference room where the case closure party was assembling. She could hear them all joking in there.

"It was very emotional . . . lots of tears . . . Oh and Alexis was fine by the way," Castle snickered as he said it.

They let out a guffaw in unison.

"I gotta say Castle, we're going to miss you around here," Esposito was publicly repeating his take on the matter with all sincerity.

The rest of the team all nodded agreement.

"You're still leaving the coffee machine though," said Montgomery in a mock serious tone.

"I wouldn't want you guys to suffer that much," replied Castle light heartedly.

There was the same old Richard Castle, the one the public usually saw, the wise-cracking playboy. Kate composed herself, took a deep breath, and started down the aisle way toward the party room. She opened the door and made her grand entrance. Cold beer and snacks were on the conference table.

"Oh, look who's finally off duty," remarked Castle.

"I'm not all work Castle," she replied with a hint of tease in her voice.

Lanie's radar switched on. "Don't get into a drinking contest with her . . . she can take you."

Kate looked at Lanie with a glint in her eye.

"I don't need to drink to take him," she quipped.

"Girl! What's gotten into you?" Lanie exclaimed.

It was turning into one of the strangest moments for a case closure party ever as Kate directed her gaze over to Castle.

"Castle, have you got a minute?" she asked as she motioned for him to step outside the room with her.

As he followed her out, the words of the song began to pound in her head: . . . storybook endings time after time; If only, if only you could'a been mine . . . I'd take you . . . She was now sure she wanted to claim him.

"Castle, I know I'm not the easiest person to get to know . . .", she began, "and I don't always let on . . . what's on my mind. But this past year working with you; I've had a really good time."

"Yeah, me too."

"So, I'm just going to say this . . .," she gushed, but then paused for a moment or two.

The little exchange had not gone unnoticed. Kate and Richard had once again made that fatal mistake of discussing very important moments in their relationship in an office that supplied constant interruptions. The partiers had bunched up near the conference room window to get a better look. But the smiles suddenly vanished as they saw what was coming next.

"Richard!", Gina called out as she approached the two from the direction of the elevator, "You ready?"

Richard turned so as to be between the two of them.

"Kate, this is Gina, my ex-wife," he began.

"And publisher," she intervened.

Kate looked at her. "Yeah I spoke with you the other day . . . on the phone. Looks like you tracked him down," she responded good naturedly.

"Oh, he's such a little boy sometimes," Gina replied condescendingly, "Why it's not like I bite . . . much," she continued with obvious enjoyment from rubbing the remarks in Kate's face.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think the two of you got along," Kate replied, quite confused.

"We didn't. Then last night on the phone . . . it seemed like we talked for hours," Gina explained dramatically, "I'm going to the Hamptons to stay on top of him while he finishes his book."

Castle used the brief dramatic pause to turn his attention back to Kate.

"I'm sorry, you were saying something?"

"Yeah . . . I wanted to say . . . have a great summer," she lied.

If only things had started ten minutes sooner. If only they had hidden in one of the other multi-purpose rooms. Kate began to hate the lyrics to that song. The faces on the partiers turned from all smiles to shock and disbelief. It was like the fans were watching the home team lose the World Series. It just couldn't be! Gina whisked Richard Castle away with her. They started down the aisle way arm in arm. Kate looked on in shock.

"See you in the fall?" she asked uncertainly.

Richard turned to say, "See you in the fall," and then continued on his way out of the precinct.

She had just been too late. The enemy agent had swooped in and made the mark. Well, at least there'd be a lot less talk about spies and CIA agents in the precinct during the summer. The shadows of the afternoon began to lengthen; but they were nowhere near as long as the faces of Kate and her friends in the homicide department.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: I hope you enjoy the less choppy, plot-line tweaked, and somewhat improved version. This part is still rooted in the Castle Universe, but I like to think of it as the 'dark matter' that could have been discovered between seasons 2 and 3. Life returns to normal, or does it?_

 _Disclaimer: I do not own Castle – all credit goes to Andrew Marlow and the writing team for ABC's Castle; my thanks to them for providing a foundation for this little exercise._

7

'Summertime . . . and the living is easy' sang Clara, the young wife of a local fisherman, as a new mother would sing a lullaby to her baby. _Porgy & Bess_ has had its share of rebirths on Broadway and yetanother reworked version of this Gershwin classic opera had come to Broadway; this time, two well-known local actors were in the lead roles. It was playing at the Richard Rogers Theater on West 46th Street. But for actors, and for anyone else holding a job in NYC during the summer, the living was not so easy. With the pedestrian traffic swollen to many times its average by the influx of tourists, and those wishing to attend one event, street festival, or another, travelling anywhere could become as oppressive as the heat.

Early June had arrived, and with it had come the first mini-heatwave of the season. One couldn't just pretend it was spring anymore. With the schools and colleges having finished the bulk of their spring semesters and graduation ceremonies, the feeling of summertime in NYC could not be avoided. All if its trappings had arrived; but it was becoming obvious to everyone in the 12th that Castle was gone – not the kind of I'm gone but then suddenly appear two weeks later just to see how everyone was doing. Rather like, really gone for good. Beckett and the homicide team remained at work; except for the excused absences that constituted a long weekend or a full-blown vacation. Any time off that they could get was always well deserved. Even Captain Montgomery found a week to take off. While he was gone the precinct's second in command, Ed Whitefield would be in charge. Lieutenant Ed Whitefield was getting near retirement. He too was good at his job and his performance record had saved him from a couple of cut-backs and mandatory retirement programs over the last few years. At his station in life he had no desire to move up to Captain, even if was for only a year or two since the change in rank really did not translate into any significant change in retirement benefits. Whitefield was certainly no Dr. Sidney Perlmutter, but he did have his moments. He didn't relate well to the younger members of the force whether they were uniformed officers or detectives. He especially wondered how someone like Detective Beckett bothered to stay in such a rough line of work. Not that he didn't approve of women on the job; it was just that according to his reasoning, after seeing a thousand crime scenes, wouldn't they rather move on to something a little more soothing to the soul? He figured the reason anyone stayed on the job more than five to ten years was that they either just plain got off on it somehow; liked power over innocent people, felt they had something to prove, or were hiding from something or somebody. Right then he had other more important things to think about. There was going to be a rally of some kind in Central park on the upcoming weekend, starting that Friday afternoon. It had been estimated that some 1,200 uniformed officers would be needed for crowd control either at the park or the near environs.

No single precinct could muster that many uniforms. Lieutenant Whitefield had been collaborating with several precincts in order to come up with a staffing plan. The NYPD was certainly no stranger to such a drill. Anyone who had ever watched TV on New Year's Eve knew about the legendary crowds that filled Times Square for those festivities. Anywhere from half a million and up would gather for the event annually. The venue for 4th of July was notable; as was Central Park. Lieutenant Whitefield let his mind wander back to some of his early days on the force. Just two years before Detective Beckett was born; a former US Congressman for the state of NY had found himself successfully elected as mayor of NYC. It was to be the first of three consecutive terms for the feisty, blunt-spoken, and even theatrical mayor Ed Koch. Mayor Koch was controversial, and antagonistic to many minority groups, but never dull. He had a passion for making NYC a great city – a real challenge if there ever was one. He had done many good things in favor of the NYPD and some not so popular things further along the way.

Back in the latter part of the 1970's, Central Park was not a pretty place. It had become severely overused and run down. It needed a serious make over, a healthy maintenance budget, and some good management if it was to have a hope for the future. At one point in his first term, Ed Koch had paradoxically suggested that Central park might just as well be scrapped and closed permanently – or at least that was what some sources reported. Crowds, Koch, and Central Park funding all came together one Saturday night in September of 1981. The Parks Department had estimated maybe an attendance of some three hundred thousand, based on former figures for other performers, but the reunion of Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel for the event drew a crowd of more than five hundred thousand; and it probably would have been even more if had not rained all that afternoon leading up to the performance. Both the Parks Commissioner and the concert promoter were thrilled with the turn out. It was a free concert, but the money that came from the local merchandising sales, the broadcasting, and video rights was going into the park restoration budget. Not all the attendees were thrilled with Mayor Koch. After a couple of songs, Paul Simon looked out into the crowd and intoned:

"Well it's great to do a neighborhood concert . . ."

The crowd erupted with cheers and applause. He then thanked the police department, the fire department, the park administration and finally Ed Koch. The audience booed, but just moments later they applauded again as Simon continued and the irony in his reference became clear.

"Wow! We seemed to have filled the place . . .," he had said with wonderment at a later point in the performance.

Even bigger crowds followed in later years. The anti-nuclear rally in 1982 boasted three quarters of a million at least. In 1983, Diana Ross was said to have topped over eight hundred thousand for that crowd. Similar things had been going on every year since then. Lieutenant Whitefield was still a young uniformed officer on the force back then and it was one of his first assignments with a really large crowd. He viewed this upcoming event as a blessing in disguise for the department. These things were a managerial nightmare for the precinct captains, but they also provided great experience for the younger members on the force; and the opportunity to see how effective and resourceful the rookies and their mentors would prove to be. It was a good chance to determine what combinations of resources were working well together and the ones that were not. Whitefield only hoped there wouldn't be any incidents that might generate negative press for the department.

NYC, The Big Apple, the city that never sleeps – it only appears that way to the outsider; certainly a large portion of the city does sleep or at least tries to. But there is a reason for all the night activity besides parties, clubs, or those bent on committing crimes of some kind. The precinct Captain and the Lieutenant usually had the day watch but remained on call for any big emergency. They handled this on a rotational basis. So, here's what happens when an urban center is scaled up; literally tens of thousands of people are up at night out of necessity. The city needs maintenance; night shift is when that takes place. Sanitation workers make their rounds with the grinding noises of garbage trucks at 2:00 AM being a normal activity. The night time orchestra is rounded out by legions of transit workers, road and utility repair workers; not to mention all those whose jobs are part of twenty-four-hour services such as hospital workers, and restaurant and hotel staff, so logically, it all adds up. They need their equivalent of a 'lunch break', so who in turn feeds them? The place never appears to sleep. There is always traffic going somewhere; hungry folks are looking for a meal somewhere; someone returning home from somewhere. The subway system runs late. Taxis run all the time; and so does the NYPD. Night shift uniforms are always needed somewhere to direct traffic away from night-work zones; to keep people out of places they shouldn't be; and to arrest those who are doing things they shouldn't be doing.

The 12th precinct was just one little atoll amid the huge backdrop of NYC and the NYPD, of which it was a part. There were about eighty precincts in total. The department had a huge inventory of personnel and equipment which needed constant maintenance, updating, and tracking. At any given time, there might be anywhere from 8,500 – 9,000 police patrol cars used to cover twelve separate transit districts. They had about a dozen police boats, and at least six or more helicopters. Then there was the menagerie. They had about a hundred to one hundred twenty trained police horses at any given time; a real feat to maintain when the operation is in the middle of a city. Anywhere from two to three dozen German shepherds and their handlers were on the staff; and several bloodhounds were in reserve for those cases where a manhunt would ensue. Sorry, no cats on the roster, unless of course someone sneaked one in as a precinct mascot.

Lieutenant Whitefield mentally returned to the task at hand. Uniforms, dogs, and helicopters were on his mind as he descended to the first floor for a logistics meeting. He and personnel from other precincts up in North Manhattan were meeting with his pledged group of uniformed officers. One of the major discussions was how to get emergency response vehicles in and out of certain sections of the park. The details were being made available to all the 911 dispatchers that could possibly be involved with that zone of the city. The meeting and its related conference calls lasted about two hours.

With all of the activity on the first floor, the fourth floor of the precinct had become unusually quiet for a normal day shift. Of course, Kate had seen it this empty during some of her after hours work, but to have it like this during daylight hours made it seem eerie. In the distance she could see only a few desk clerks down at the extreme end still at their work. Ryan and Esposito were out of the office, running down some leads on the latest case, as were about six other detectives and their assistants regarding their respective cases. Lanie had already spent the better part of the morning and the late afternoon the day before with a particularly difficult post mortem examination. She wasn't expected back out in public any time soon. The interrogation box was empty for the moment. A processing clerk and two additional uniforms were still on duty at the entrance to the holding cells. Someone was looking for something in the break room; and that was about it. Kate's gaze stopped at the empty chair still in place at the left side of her desk. Unofficially it was Castle's chair. As she gazed at it, a feeling of heaviness came upon her, defying description and the near silence, near emptiness of the office, only amplified it. The background buzzing of the overhead fluorescent lights became annoyingly loud. She continued to stare blankly at the vacant spot for a few more seconds and then shifted her attention back to her paperwork.

The logistics plan had been adequately worked out to everyone's satisfaction. Lieutenant Whitefield made his way back up to the fourth floor using the center stairwell. He continued down the short hallway and turned into the homicide department area, then made his way toward Detective Beckett's desk. The precinct's office design was still locked between a 1950's to late 1970's concept. Most of it consisted of desks, arranged in semi-clusters, among open spaces – the 'bull pen' as most folks called it. Those who merited private offices found these located on the outer walls. At least they had windows. They had more glass facing the bullpens on the opposite side. It was an unavoidable 'fishbowl' effect. Sound travelled well even though it had to find its way down the open corridors between the break room and multi-purpose rooms. Even Whitefield could hear things way across the whole building at times. When two or three active cases were going simultaneously, and Richard Castle was in on one of them with Beckett's team, things could get rather noisy down that way. Recently Whitefield had noted it was more like the city examiner's morgue. He decided to at least touch base with Detective Beckett. He made his way to the empty chair by her desk and took a seat. She was fully aware of his approach and gave him an inquiring look as he sat down.

"Good morning Lieutenant, what brings you here?" she asked.

"Just checking for signs of life down at this end of the office," he answered back.

She gave him the Kate Beckett 'so that's your next move', intense kind of look. No smart replies. She was respectful of his rank every bit as much as for Captain Montgomery.

"So where are we on that case for our vic . . . George Herbert Reeves?"

"Esposito is running down another possible lead right now . . . But so far nothing has popped in either his cell phone records or his financials."

The vic was a tow truck driver who had the sometimes dangerous job of collecting vehicles from people who would not or could not make their loan payments. The sight of a 'Repo Man' and his tow truck was not a welcome event. The case seemed routine; most likely an overly angry person, already pushed to his limits by several other bad events during the week, sees his last thing being taken from him. He makes his stand. No one is leaving with his car. But still, things were not adding up. The one most troubling was the excessive mileage logged on the tow truck between assigned pick-ups. Had it not been for that, it might have been an easy case. The team had already requested traffic-cam video files from two possible locations that covered that particular block where the repossession was to have taken place. Ryan was pinpointing the whereabouts of the car and its negligent owner. If those things fell into place someone was going to be cooked in that interrogation box for a possible confession statement, and then booked for murder before the end of the week. But the third piece did not fit cleanly.

"Any ideas?" urged the Lieutenant.

Kate could feel the frustration that came from a white board with still too much white showing on it; or maybe some red question marks still drawn near the motive column. What was worse in this particular case – there was not even a suspect in hand yet.

"Not a clue at present," she murmured.

They both sensed simultaneously where the conversation would go next. Whitefield thought back a couple of years to the time when Richard Castle had made his first appearance at the precinct. Detective Beckett was known by all the teams to be a master at deflecting 'wise ass' remarks and counter questions, especially from men; and at getting into the heads of suspects and persons of interest but Castle had given her a rough ride during their first rodeo. He had done more than that. He had pegged her life story somehow; all within an hour of ever having laid eyes on her. Castle had seen the same thing Whitefield had gathered. She was young and very attractive. She had been raised in Manhattan by wealthy and influential parents. He had gathered that by her lack of an accent saying 'well you're not bridge or tunnel' referring to people who commuted into Manhattan from either Brooklyn or Queens Boroughs; or from northern new Jersey. She had attended a good school. She had options, yes lots of options; yet she chose police work. The loss of someone very close to her had driven her to make that choice in life. Kate had become more dumbfounded as his narrative unfolded. . . 'and that Kate Beckett . . . is why you are here' he had concluded. The observers in that observation room adjacent to the interrogation box had talked about it for days afterward. She had accused him of being frivolous but further analysis of his remarks showed them to be full of the obvious double entendre, but then still later, even triple entendre. The general feeling in the department was that the case had been easily solved. Castle had become convinced that it had been too easy - they had the wrong man. Rather Castle had gotten into Kate's head and finessed additional effort from her to further the investigation. To both Montgomery's and Whitefield's surprise Castle had been right. Whitefield been formally introduced to Richard Castle after the Mayor of NYC had called the police commissioner, who had in turn called the 12th precinct and spoken to both Montgomery and Whitefield on two separate calls. Castle had eagerly signed the 'indemnify and hold harmless' legal paper work that prevented him, his immediate family, any distant relatives, extended family, ex-wives, or any current acquaintances, or anyone else on planet earth from suing the city or any of the NYPD employees in the event of any injuries, hardships, mental anguish or death experienced in the course of his participation in solving crimes or offering consulting services to the NYPD in the solving of such crimes. So, from then on, the 12th was hosting an untrained, rambunctious, civilian consultant who helped crack cases by unravelling the life stories of suspects leading up to the murder rather than back-tracking the evidence trail leading back to the murderer. His motive for donating all this free time and energy was to gather research for his next series of books. The pure motive became complex as time had elapsed. They had all seen it. Montgomery had kept his second in command informed with regular briefings. In the past six to seven weeks an unwritten rule had been established on Montgomery's side of the office. No one dared compare a present situation with past a situation that involved Castle's modus operandi. Anyone who absentmindedly broke that rule by starting a sentence with "Well, Ca . . ." would receive a sharp poke in the ribs from his or her immediate partner, especially if the incomplete verbalization occurred within earshot of Kate Beckett. Then there would be an abrupt rephrasing of the intended sentence. Ed Whitefield didn't hesitate to break that rule.

"Too bad Castle isn't around to offer some fresh, off-the-wall, theories", he quipped.

"Yes, Sir . . . well he's not," replied Kate rather curtly.

"Where is he anyway . . . is he out on a vacation or something?" he pried.

"You could say that sir."

"When that guy first showed up here, I would have been the last person in the department to admit it . . . but he's a good thinker; a real asset to this department."

"Yes sir, I couldn't agree more," Kate gave the politically correct reply.

"Detective . . ." Whitefield said as he looked directly at her, ". . . he's been good for you. Heck, he's been good for this whole department. It's not the same around here, and you're not the same woman when he's away."

Kate looked somewhat shaken. "I don't follow you sir," she replied as matter-of-factly as she could.

"Detective listen to me . . . you're all about being professional . . . and that's very good. You're all business. He's all nonsense and positive and outgoing and fun . . . strike a balance for crying out loud. It's called work - life balance . . . don't you pay any attention to the training seminars that come with this job?"

"Sir, it's not like that at all," she shot back at him.

"Detective calm down" he replied soothingly, "I'm just saying, if you have something to prove . . . you don't have to do it twenty-four hours a day."

Kate was now really flustered. "Sir! I don't have anything to prove to anybody," she replied with her characteristic scowl firmly in place.

"Okay, Okay Detective . . . you don't have anything to prove. Yes, this job requires seriousness. It requires intensity. But not the continuous push you've been giving it. If it's your desire to stay with the NYPD, you'll have to adjust your outlook. Otherwise you're going to burn out."

"Sir let me . . ."

"No, detective . . . let me finish . . . I've seen too many good cops go down the same path. I know the end game. The end is a life in shambles, and the department lacking a once valuable resource. Nobody on the 4th floor of this building wants to see that happen to you Detective Beckett – nobody, not me, and certainly not your team."

Kate sat there, for once, without a reply.

"If nothing else, take it from an old man who has been there and done that, because you certainly don't listen to the younger men . . . we care about you Detective Beckett."

"Anything else sir?" she inquired weakly.

"No detective. Just try to relax a bit," he said as he was getting up to leave.

The scowl had left her face and Kate was glad the little exchange had concluded. She looked back at the chair. The seat cushion was returning to its un-sat-in state. The room felt hot as she choked down a lump in her throat. So many things felt so wrong all at once. She felt drained. Don't you dare cry, she silently commanded herself. It would just be another stick on the pile of the day's failures and shortcomings. She hated days like the one she was having so far. The Lieutenant was right about one thing though. She needed some balance. Kate weighed her current options but there weren't too many from which to choose.

Perhaps just a change of pace and route home might do some good. She figured it certainly couldn't hurt. All the spring fashion items were now on sale, being replaced by what the designers considered the 'look' for summer. She decided to make a couple of rounds at some of her favorite clothing shops on the way home. With the way the day had been going already, she was planning on an early quitting time. Kate thought back to that summer between her junior and senior year in high school. Her mother was no longer around to advise her on job selections. She certainly did not wish to wait on tables at some bistro, or worse yet, some chain restaurant. That summer she had successfully landed a position in fashion modelling. It had proved to be harder than it looked. The pace was ridiculously quick. It might have had some bearing on the pacing she applied to her current job. At any rate, the position, thankfully, was only temporary, but reasonably well paying. It also proved another thing about Kate. She liked wearing fashionable clothes a whole lot more than shopping for them. But a shopping outing was overdue. She managed to kill three hours and put the day's previous affairs completely out of her mind for the time being. For her efforts, she scored a nice sun dress, and two other work place outfits. And with most everybody out of the office, she would only have to listen to the 'oh look who's been shopping' refrain from Lanie and possibly a couple of the clerks.

It was public knowledge around the precinct that Beckett's idea of a good evening was to get out those dirty work clothes, which sometimes got really dirty; take a long, hot bath; sip some good wine during said bath time; and delve into a good novel. She figured on exercising that option after the evening's shopping and dining options; only on this evening the bath would be just warm because of the weather. Up to this point she had been a big fan of Castle's works; but she decided that for now it would be something by Patterson, Castle's nemesis. Her last stop was a bookshop not too far from her apartment. The owner knew her from numerous past visits. She was surprised, but said nothing, as Kate selected a copy of James Patterson's _Alex Cross_. It had come out about fall of the previous year, Kate couldn't remember exactly. Like some others among Patterson's fans, she had taken a couple of years off from reading his series, after the release of some not so thrilling installments. But now it was time to do some catching up.

Also, on her list of options was hanging out with Lanie and some of the other more prominent females on the NYPD force; even a couple from one of the precincts further uptown. Hanging out with Lanie was definitely good for Kate. Kate's hot baths might have been physically relaxing, but Lanie's mental therapy coupled with imbibing alcohol also helped in the unwinding process. Lanie could spend hours unscrambling the internal mess that was part of Kate's life. Not that Lanie had some pent-up ambition to play 'Ann Landers' or psychoanalyst; she was a good friend of Kate's and just plain cared about how her best girlfriend felt most of the time. Only on this particular evening, Kate wanted to be by herself and Lanie wasn't available anyway. No sense in dredging up more shop talk and frustrations generated by the NYPD. Her dose of that had been more than adequate for the day.

She was careful. She had managed to limit herself to only a half a bottle of merlot that evening. The wines coming out of Washington State for the past couple of years had been tremendously satisfying for the prices she paid, and she had enjoyed every sip. For some reason she couldn't really start into the book, by page six she went nodding off to sleep. The next morning, she arose and got ready for work as usual. Her head was clear; and her mood had improved somewhat. The day drifted by as clues to the George Herbert Reeves murder case remained elusive and no significant progress was made. At least the office had a few more people in it than the day before. Again, she sneaked out in the early afternoon, before the commuter traffic really got bad. She decided to change things up a bit more for the evening. She called her father to see what his schedule was. It had been a while and she owed him a visit.

One thing that was not public knowledge to anyone was Kate's encounter with a new man in her life. Even Lanie was excluded this time around. She had met him purely in passing. Kate made good on her plans to go back home and visit her father. She busied herself with preparing a good, home cooked meal for the two of them. They talked and caught up on things while having a quiet dinner together. It was still light outside when they finished cleaning up. They took a walk out to the back yard; and in so doing she remembered her motorcycle in the shed. Her father was also known to take a short spin on it from time to time; to her delight, she found it in fair condition, the tires were adequately inflated, the oil had been changed a couple of months back, and the gas left in the tank was not stale. It started right up after a couple of cranks. She jockeyed it out into the driveway, got on, and headed off down the street for a few blocks and completed the lap around the local neighborhood. It felt good, like old times. On one hand she wished she could just slide back into those old times where her life was simpler than at present; but on the other hand, she didn't want to go back there where the pain of her mother's death, compounded by her father's slide into alcoholism, would have been the dark clouds overshadowing her life. She dropped the thought and turned her full attention back to the pleasant evening ride. That was the great thing about NYC. One could show up via subway or taxi, yet leave in a limo, or perhaps a motorcycle. She made a quick stop back at her father's place, said her goodbyes, and donned a helmet and light riding jacket. She had decided to lengthen her ride and wanted to be properly equipped for it. It turned into quite a romp. She wound her way through the southern part of Queens, then through part of Brooklyn heading towards Manhattan via the Brooklyn Bridge. She continued on and roared by 1-Police Plaza (1-PP was how they'd refer to it at the office), made a couple of turns and found herself on Bowery Ave heading uptown. As she was waiting for the traffic light at Grand Street, she looked to her right and noticed another motorcycle rider pulling out of the Hospital complex. The light turned but the traffic was proceeding very slowly for some reason. She pushed on toward Broome Street. Much to her surprise she met the same rider at the Broome Street intersection. They each gave the motorcycle riders' wave of acknowledgement. Regardless of the helmets and motorcycle garb, she could tell he was a well-built guy; and he in turn could tell she was a well-built gal. Almost automatically she made a mental note of the bike description and the license plate number. Unlike the average woman in NYC, she had a very convenient means to find someone's identity just by the transportation they employed.

She had experienced enough fun for the evening. Besides she now had material for another plan later in the week; or so she hoped. It was time to get the bike out of the city and get back home. She remained at the light. Her mystery rider headed west on Broome Street. She decided to follow him at a distance if that would prove to be possible. When the light turned she also made a left on Broome Street after a couple of quick maneuvers and the courtesy of a couple of drivers behind her. She figured the courtesy afforded by those male drivers had something to do with the view of her backside. After a couple of blocks she completely lost sight of the other rider. He had vanished behind a couple of trucks and a knot of taxis. She turned right on Mulberry Street. This was taking her back toward the 12th precinct house in just a few more blocks. No way. She finally made it to Kenmare Street where she made a right turn and headed onward toward the Williamsburg Bridge. Kenmare ended in a ramp to Delancey Street, which formed the entrance road to the bridge. Now she was heading east southeast again. She crossed over just one block north of the intersection where she had just met her fellow rider a few minutes earlier. The road went up and over the green space; then onward over the southeast Manhattan business district. As she crossed over Ridge Street below, she could just make out the top of the building between Ridge and Pitt streets, which housed the NYPD 7th precinct. All appeared quiet in the back parking lot. She continued over FDR Drive and the East River Promenade and crossed the East River. It was now past 9:00 PM and the sun was completely gone. She headed back to her father's place to drop off the motorcycle and catch a more conventional means of transportation back into Manhattan.

The next morning, back at the 12th precinct, things were returning to the normal pace. The 4th floor was significantly more occupied than the previous few days. Esposito was at his desk when she entered. She didn't yet know of Ryan's whereabouts. One of the other homicide teams had someone in the box and yet another one being processed for the holding cells. It looked like it was becoming a busy morning. She headed toward the break room to prepare her morning coffee. She approached the machine – Castle's gift to the homicide department. As the coffee brewed, she wondered what had become of him. On her way back to her desk, she dropped the thought, deciding not to let an empty chair bother her today. She sat down at her desk and began the morning routine. She checked her voice messages. One posted by one of the clerks reporting out regarding a lead; and one from Lanie. Lanie had finished her arduous task that had occupied the past three days. She wanted to know if Kate was free for a lunch date. Kate made a mental note to get back to her. She logged on to the computer and started checking if there were any new entries regarding the Reeves murder case. A new posting stated that traffic cam video files were ready. Esposito had seen it too.

He took that opportunity to confront Kate. He backed his rolling office chair out into the aisle, turned it in the right direction, and gave himself an impulse with his foot. It was a well-practiced maneuver, which sent him heading toward Kate's desk, with the chair stopping almost exactly beside hers. Kate figured Javier wanted to invite her to review the traffic cam video; a boring procedure that was better executed using two pairs of eyes and someone to talk with.

"So, I heard you got a visit from Whitefield yesterday," he began.

Kate was surprised. The person in the break room must have turned into a spy and blabbed something about the encounter.

"Yes, we talked," she replied already somewhat flustered.

She was suddenly growing angry about how much of the conversation might have been overheard.

"Did he say anything about our . . . Um . . . 'consultant'?" Javier went on to inquire.

"Well, yes . . . and No . . . look Espo, what we talked about isn't really anybody else's business, okay? Anyway, there is no news about Castle, if that's what you mean."

Esposito looked puzzled and changed the subject.

"Okay, are you ready to see if there's any evidence we can glean from that traffic cam?"

He got up, rolled his chair back to his desk, and they both went to the viewing and video enhancement room. They began the playback. Most of it was like watching grass grow in Central Park. The camera was located at an intersection and aimed down the block of a side street where the average NYC occupant went to bed at a reasonable hour. Kate hit the pause button and changed the screen to the reports mode. She selected the folder for the city examiner's reports. Dr. Perlmutter's report indicated the time of death to have been within a two-hour window starting around 11:30 PM the night of the murder. They switched back to the video file and ran a fast forward to around the 11:00 PM time stamp. They paused it again and checked the camera clock time against the current time by accessing its web address through one of the city's traffic cam servers. The time stamp was only a second or two off – certainly close enough for their purposes. There was some footage before their assumed window of interest; however, it seemed to be obstructed by a bat or something fluttering around the camera lens and blurring the view. The tow truck of interest was already parked, but nothing was moving. They continued reviewing the video of the nearly empty street at several times normal speed. If or when any action was noted, they would back it up a little and play it in real time. Mr. Reeves walked up to his tow truck at about the 11:20 PM time stamp. They continued to watch as Mr. Reeves, still alive and well, went about preparing to tow one of the cars parked on the side street. The light was not in their favor. By this time a video tech had joined them, so at their request, she stopped the playback, extracted the frame, and loaded it into a video image enhancement program and zoomed in about ten times. There was a plate visible but very fuzzy. She started one of the more basic focus and image sharpening algorithms, but it wasn't quite good enough so, she tried a more sophisticated program, which did the trick. Plate number 5K7-6655 came into view. It was a NY plate. Kate took the number down herself. Esposito found that a little unusual. She would normally have either Ryan or him pursue that kind of a lead. The tech saved the enhanced image and printed a hard copy of it for the paper file they would use when in the interrogation room. They continued with the playback. About ten minutes later another car appeared and pulled up to where Mr. Reeves was working; then two men jumped out, grabbed Mr. Reeves by force, and stuffed him into their car. Fortunately, they forgot about such things as traffic cams and left their headlights on. The camera had no problem recording the illuminated rear license plate: 9Z6-8898, also from NY. Kate took note of that one also.

Things really didn't add up. Mr. Reeves apparently had been abducted and taken for a joy ride. So how did he end up dead inside his own tow truck? Did they bring him back, and if so, why would they risk returning to the original crime scene? They continued reviewing the file, noting no further activity other than a passing car or two until about 6:20 AM. A man appeared on the sidewalk and proceeded quickly to the car that was still attached to the tow truck cable. He looked it over and took out his cell phone. A few minutes later another man appeared and helped the first man unhook the tow cable, and the two of them got into the car that would have been repossessed and drove off with it. Were they the same two men who abducted Mr. Reeves? It was hard to tell, but if they were, the video indicated that they were smart enough to have changed their clothes between the two visits to the scene. At any rate, there was no further evidence that anyone deposited Mr. Reeves back into the cab of his tow truck. The tech was going to need the better part of the day to process the numerous frames they had extracted for analysis. Hopefully there would be enough visual information to generate some more leads. At least the license plate information would get them started in the meantime. Clearly, they had to get someone to download another couple of days' worth of video from that traffic cam.

Kate rounded up Ryan and sent him along with Esposito back out to cover the crime scene. All of them knew it would be rather contaminated by now; nevertheless, they wanted to check and see if anything had been dropped from any of the cars or any object of interest otherwise missed by the CSU. Such things often wound up in the gutter and could be easily confused with just normal city littering activity. With the two of them out of the way, Kate walked down to one of the assistant detective's desks and asked her to run some plate numbers for full information. There were two cars and one motorcycle.

About two hours later Kate received a post regarding the DMV search files she had requested. She sent copies of the two files regarding the murder case to both Ryan and Esposito. The motorcycle file she kept for herself. She studied the DMV photo. A dark haired, handsome man, age thirty-two, six feet and two inches tall, and a hundred and ninety pounds; that is if one could trust the data entered by the applicant. The photo seemed to confirm the data. Name: Josh R. Davidson. Kate studied the face. He looked every bit as ruggedly handsome as Castle; and at least she knew where this Josh could most likely be found. She took note of the home address. Her next problem was how to arrange a meeting that appeared to be a coincidence. She couldn't very well just show up at his high-rise apartment building in the Tribeca district with some lame excuse of just being in the neighborhood and dropping by to meet him. He might already be married, she reasoned that there were plenty of married men, with kids, who still found time to ride motorcycles.

Lunch date with Lanie, she recalled, reached for the phone, and dialed Lanie's extension. They made some plans, and to Kate's surprise, Lanie said she had to run an errand that involved the 7th precinct. She had extracted some hard evidence for their department and one of the detectives over there needed it ASAP. Normally, she would have just sent it via internal courier but since they were going out anyway it would be a good excuse to cruise the city. Kate couldn't have agreed more. She checked her watch – 11:15. No time like the present she figured; consequently, she gathered up her things, took the elevator down to the basement and walked down the tunnel corridor that connected to the adjoining department of the city examiner's offices. She met Lanie who was in the process of making herself ready for public appearance.

"Got your stuff," she quipped, ". . . then let's go."

Lanie's radar switched on. "Girl, you seem to be in a big hurry to get somewhere," Lanie replied.

"I am" effused Kate, "I'm hungry."

Lanie studied Kate's expression and her body language.

"Sure you are," Lanie sighed.

They continued out of the examination area, up the stairs, and out the rear entrance to the police department motor pool. Kate signed out a car and they were on their way.

"So, what is it Lanie . . . delivery first and then lunch . . . or the other way around?" questioned Kate, trying to read Lanie's mood.

"Let's just get this over to assistant Detective Grainger, and then we can relax."

They finally made it over to Pitt Street. Kate waited in the car while Lanie ran in and made the delivery. She returned with a signed receipt in hand. Kate had taken the brief respite to plan her next moves. They worked their way out of the 7th's jurisdiction westward into the next precinct. Kate found Grand Street and continued westbound. They finally arrived at the intersection with City Hospital in Chinatown.

If her mystery rider had only been a visitor to the hospital that day, then visitor parking was in a multi-level underground area and street surveillance would be useless. She scanned the side lot reserved for hospital employees. There it was! Kate proceeded slowly, trying to keep her eyes on the road ahead, but at the same time, making sure the motorcycle she had spotted was indeed the same one belonging to her mystery rider.

"What are you looking at so intently?" asked Lanie.

"Nice bike," said Kate in an offhand way.

"Girl tell me you're not starting that phase again . . . I thought you had given yours up."

"Kind of . . . "it's at my dad's place."

Lanie's radar scan intensified. "Uh huh," she let it out soft and slow so as to make sure Kate would take notice.

Kate noticed but offered no additional clues as to her personal agenda.

"Well, we are in Chinatown", she finally replied, "shall we do the obvious for lunch . . . or are you in the mood for something else?"

Lanie said the obvious choice would be fine with her. They miraculously found a parking spot and ducked into the cool darkness of a little sit-down place with about a dozen tables. A few moments later the place was full of diners taking their lunches. The food was authentic but the service just a little bit slow. Blame could not be placed on anyone in particular since the venue was up to capacity. They split the lunch bill and got ready to go back to work. Lanie said she needed to stop off at the little girls' room. Kate said they could meet at the car while automatically checking the time finding that it was already near 1:30 PM, and she was surprised the phone wasn't ringing with inquires as to her whereabouts. Still staring at the screen on the phone, she absentmindedly turned to go down the sidewalk and bump! She had walked right into someone's path – not all that uncommon in a city crammed with about eight and a half million people.

"Excuse me, I'm so sorry," exclaimed a male voice.

"No, it was completely my fault," stammered Kate as she looked at the man she had just inconvenienced.

She immediately choked back a gasp. The man had dark hair and was very good looking. Furthermore, he was carrying a tote bag and a motorcycle helmet in his left hand. From what little she could quickly scan, the contents of the tote bag suggested something to do with the medical profession. Oh God! She thought to herself; please don't let Lanie show up right now.

"Hey, I think I might have seen you the other evening," she broke the ice with a truthful supposition.

"Really?" came the reply.

"I'm sorry . . . my name's Kate," she offered as part of the awkward introduction, "you don't happen to ride a Ducati – Monster 750 do you?" she asked as innocently as possible.

The man had noticed the NYPD shield clipped to Kate's waistband.

"Yes, I happen to ride that model," he replied in a guarded way. "Am I in trouble of some kind?"

Kate figured he had noticed the badge.

"No, not at all . . . I was the other rider on that old, mid-nineties model Harley Davidson who waved to you," she tried to sound matter-of-fact.

The man's face brightened. He remembered for a certainty. All of the sudden this seemed to be his lucky day.

"Hi, I'm Josh," he introduced himself as friendly as could be.

With that Kate was assured she was talking to the right guy. Meanwhile people were going around them on the crowded sidewalk like water swirling around rocks in a streambed.

"Maybe we could go out for a ride sometime," she coyly suggested, "here's my card."

"Yeah, maybe we could," he replied with a broad smile. "Well, I've got to get back to work," he said as he turned to go.

She watched him continue along his way.

"What was all that about?" pried Lanie who had just exited the restaurant.

"Oh nothing . . . I was acting dumb and bumped into him . . . so an apology was in order," replied Kate.

"Mmmm, he looks like the kind I'd like to bump into again," Lanie teased.

Kate agreed. On the way back to the precinct Lanie tried to pump her for more information but nothing doing. When that didn't work, Lanie switched to the roundabout method. She started talking about her vacation plans for the last week in August. If Kate didn't have any plans, then maybe they could catch one of those short summer cruises to Nova Scotia or even one of those short cruises to 'nowhere'. During a break in the conversation Kate allowed herself to mentally entertain just one more Castle-ism. Maybe the Universe was trying to tell her something this time. She was pretty sure she did not want to defy the wishes of the Universe. Who would have thought . . . she wondered, with odds as high as the population of NYC . . . a chance meeting like that had to be the Universe talking.

The work week dragged on. Friday finally arrived, and with it the maddening realization that the Reeves murder case was still going nowhere. They had reviewed many more hours of traffic cam video following the abduction but with no clear-cut evidence. Whoever sneaked the deceased Mr. Reeves back into the cab of his own tow truck had been very careful about it. Meanwhile the case load was starting to pile up. It looked like Mr. Reeves' mystery murderer was going to adversely affect the team's closure score. What was worse; neither of the cars with the license plates they recorded had turned up anywhere despite a bulletin across the NYPD network to report a sighting and location immediately. It was just after 2:30 PM when Kate's desk phone rang. Both Esposito and Ryan were out in the field. She assumed it might be one of them. The screen indicated an unidentified caller. She answered it. The voice asked:

"Is this Detective Kate Beckett of the NYPD?"

"Yes, this is she. How can I help you?"

The male voice sounded as if its owner was exhausted.

"Ms. Beckett, this is Josh," the voice continued.

"Josh? . . . You sound terrible . . . is everything alright?" she answered with a couple of questions.

"Yes, I'm fine . . . I just got out of surgery," he replied without much inflection.

"You what?" asked Kate.

"Oh, I'm sorry . . . that must have sounded funny . . . I'm a heart surgeon" he continued, "I just finished a seven-hour procedure, and we frankly don't know if the patient is going to make it . . . but I'm done . . . I just need to get out of here," he concluded.

"Oh, now I see . . . I'm sorry to hear of this," she said, trying to sound as understanding as possible.

She was more befuddled than understanding at that moment.

"Listen Kate, I know this is a long shot but perhaps we could meet for dinner someplace later this evening . . . I mean, with the kind of jobs the two of us have . . . some downtime would be nice . . . don't you think?" he rambled.

Apparently, the Universe had been talking. Kate thanked the Universe.

"Please hold on just a moment Josh, I'll be right with you," she said.

She put him on hold and then looked around the office carefully to make sure Lanie wasn't coming down the aisle; and that no other personnel were too close for comfort. She reconnected with her caller.

"Just checked my schedule," she stated flatly, "what did you have in mind?"

They had agreed to meet at the Osteria Morini Restaurant over on Lafayette Street. It was a small, rustic place so they hoped getting reservations would not become complicated or even necessary. Neither of them wanted any further complications for the week. Kate had heard of the place and decided it was worth a try. After all, this it was just dinner being shared by two tired professionals. It could have been pizza and beer for all she cared at the moment. Josh said he was heading home for a power nap and general recuperation. He would meet her there at 7:30 PM. Good, she thought, that would also give her plenty of time to get ready.

"Can I reach you at this number if there are any problems?" she inquired.

"Yes, this is my mobile phone," he replied. "Hope to see you there – bye," he concluded.

She searched for a reason to leave the office before something could happen that would result in an overtime situation. Those events had a bad habit of occurring on Friday nights. Little wonder as to why she had no social life. Just before making her exit, she confirmed that the restaurant was very convenient to the Spring Street subway station. She decided that was the way to go. She might find her way back home via the subway or via motorcycle, depending on how the evening went.

Everything went according to plan. They were seated by 7:50 PM. Both of them passed on the Italian vintages and went for a Washington State wine. Well, at least they now had three things in common she thought. She hoped he wasn't a boor; that was something neither money nor education could automatically cure. The second glasses of wine helped loosen their tongues and she talked mostly about her job and he talked mostly about his near-term goals. Working in the city was fine but he didn't want to be stuck there. He expected to get into the 'Doctors Without Borders' volunteer program later in the fall, which sounded like a good deal since travel had always interested him. She also learned that he wasn't married, nor had he ever been. She figured that the demands of medical school had kept his slate clean. For two people in such demand, it was amazing that their phones did not ring the whole evening. Kate related a couple of good experiences on her job. Josh found them quite amusing and appeared sincerely interested in her activity. Around 10:30 PM they called it a night. They agreed that the evening had been pleasant and relaxing, just as promised; and that they needed to find an opportunity to repeat it. She returned home on the subway rather than on the back of a motorcycle, but they had exchanged private phone numbers at least. She decided to take a chance on him a few more times. As she returned to street level from the subway stop nearest her apartment, she could hear the faint refrain of Mungo Jerry's _In the Summertime_ coming from a Caribbean grocery down the block. Maybe her summer was going to improve after all.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: I hope you enjoy the less choppy, plot-line tweaked, and somewhat improved version. We're still in the Castle Universe but examining the 'dark matter' not in canon, that may have occurred between seasons 2 and 3. Kate's mind be in one place, but her heart is clearly in another, something Lanie already knows. And yes, you can go see those paintings for yourself at the Metropolitan Museum of Art._

 _Disclaimer: I do not own Castle – all credit goes to Andrew Marlow and the writing team for ABC's Castle; my thanks to them for providing a foundation for this little exercise._

8

Six weeks had drifted by and still no word from Castle, no email, no texts, no phone messages – not one word. Kate tried to assume he was working hard – but at what, his next book or his next personal relationship? Gina's remark about staying on top of him while he finished his book really didn't paint a good mental picture. She made a serious effort to wipe it from her mind and maintained her reserve not to try to contact him. Meanwhile she had fallen into a pretty solid routine consisting of brisk walks in the south section of Central Park, work – of course, a fitness regimen at the NYPD gym two or perhaps three early evenings a week, when not taking the walks. She looked forward to girl's night or girl's day out at least once or twice a week, which more often than not included Lanie. For the time being it rarely included another single man although she kept Josh's number handy although his schedule had proven to very difficult to figure out.

She had at least reconnected with Tom Demming after her abrupt change of heart just before Memorial Day even meeting him for lunch a few times. They had been pleasant outings; good diversions from the daily grind at the precinct; especially that dreaded follow-up paperwork. One Friday afternoon, when things were particularly slow in both the homicide and the robbery departments, they sneaked out for a two-hour lunch and found themselves at a nice bistro in the 'Little Italy' district. They chose the 'al fresco' dining option. It was quite warm outside Kate recalled and she had uncharacteristically chosen a Lambrusco wine. The combination lowered her guard and started her mind to wander again. Some of the lines from ' _Into the Blue_ ' resurfaced. She considered some of those 'if onlys'. Nevertheless, both of them knew deep down that the spark in their brief relationship had winked out after Kate's refusal to join him for the Memorial Day weekend. At lunch Demming had tactfully inquired about Kate's vacation plans for the summer. She said she hadn't considered anything definite yet. He had planned an extended vacation following the 4th of July and would be travelling to some of the national parks out west for at least two and a half weeks. Wouldn't she like to see something different than the Central Park scenery? he had suggested. Again, she didn't commit one way or the other. In his immediate future Demming would go out west and climb a mountain or two, but after his return to NYC he would no longer be motivated to climb the stairs to the 4th floor of the 12th precinct at least on the account of Kate Beckett.

About a week after Demming had left for his vacation, Kate took an especially long hike over a good portion of Central Park. She had eaten a very light dinner upon leaving the precinct house, took the Subway B-train north up to Central Park and got off at 86th street. It was about 6:30 PM. She decided to see how much distance she could cover before dusk. There had been a slight break in the recent summer heat wave. As the sun finally dipped below the tree line, the local temperature was about 84 F; and the humidity was at least tolerable. She started in an easterly direction. Any woman in Central Park could be prone to become mildly neurotic. After all, NYC was full of characters; some of them up to no good. She had seen way too many examples of their handiwork as part of her job. Nothing was as it seemed because frequently some of the more menacing, unstable, or those of otherwise dubious appearance were actually benign, even kind; whereas, some of the completely 'normal' looking ones were on the most dangerous list. Even women 'hardened' to big city life, like Kate, could not be hundred percent sure all of the time. But it was not any surroundings that made Kate a borderline neurotic. It had to be a dozen different issues, all wrapped into one not-so-neat little package, that held Kate in this mode.

On the surface Kate was the stellar example of a professional police woman. But over the years, the homicide team had begun to understand the outworking's of this borderline neurotic. The problem was simple to define and darn near impossible to control. Kate's analytical mind almost never switched out of high gear, much less went into neutral. Yes, there are many areas where a person may overthink a situation; the scientist may overthink conditions of a particular theory; the politician may overthink the results pertaining to a constituency; and the mathematician may overthink a proof, which in reality, could be way simpler. Kate's problem was similar, but often went two steps further in that she would mentally replay scenarios; change a point of view or another set of initial conditions and/or constraints, then replay them again. When the latter ran out, she'd switch back to the former. When those ran out, she'd pick up her to-do list and find a fresh batch of problems to think about. The worry such mental exercises generated could often give way to self-doubt and fear. The fears, however, were not phobias. She had fully rationalized every one of them whether they fit reality or not. Most of the time they did. But of all her fears, the one she had to tame was the fear of failure. In her mind, she simply could not permit failure. But what was the driving force? Was it merely pride; the fear of embarrassment and of what others may think? When being seen in the company of Richard Castle was inserted into that equation, one might easily draw such a conclusion – but deep down she knew somehow that was not all of it. Or was it the fear of her own internal wrath; of having to live with that invisible boss buried down in her soul somewhere that could berate her for hours, days, or even weeks on a particular issue? The latter was unpleasant, and she had learned to do almost anything to avoid it. She could be much harder on herself than any external boss could ever be.

Kate's internal issues were both a blessing and a curse in the course of executing her job as a police detective. One blessing was the exceptional case closure rate of Kate and her team. She could grind away for hours on those suspects, their lives, their motivations, and their recent patterns. Castle's introduction had only strengthened that analytical machine. His approach was much like hers but with the enviable ability to switch out of the task at hand and attend to other things with a clear mind. Nevertheless, they could stand side by side at the white board for long periods, puzzling out the next moves. Not that the other members of homicide sat around waiting for inspiration. Ryan and Esposito would uncover a steady flow of leads and new data so as to feed this machine; not to mention the tireless work of other aids and clerks in the department. Lanie's reports from the morgue had the power to inspire focus, and at other times, to cause them to abandon an otherwise lucrative direction in the investigation. The curious thing was that Kate would not stress out over small failures; she would not mope about having pursued a wrong direction with its consequent dead end or having to shift gears because some new physical evidence demanded it. Rather, she properly viewed these incidents as mere stepping stones on the course to the overall solution. The whole team was the dream of any coach and Captain Montgomery was indeed pleased with his team's performance.

But sometimes that performance would come at a high cost as far as tolerating one's fellow man or woman was concerned. The team members were usually very good at handling this aspect. Perhaps it was due to the near constant training they received in the line of work. Highly upset and distraught family members had to be dealt with and consoled to at least some degree. Terrified suspects, most of them completely innocent, had to be calmed and questioned tactfully. After all, to the average person on the street, the daily routine in the homicide department was the makings of a nightmare. Images of guns, flashing patrol car lights, hand cuffs, interrogations, jail cells, and serious-faced people filling out paperwork that either demanded them to post bail or appear before some judge were not the kind that most sane people liked to imagine. But on the inside, the team consisted of some of NYPD's finest members. They were consummate professionals in every sense of the word; so, they knew that professionalism had to trump emotionalism every time; however, it was a feat easier said than done of course. The challenge was not too difficult when one was fresh from a really good night's sleep or a long weekend off duty. The challenge could become something out of a TV reality show after four or five days which could range between ten and sixteen hours each; especially when nothing but a string of dead ends resulted from all the hard work. The team had learned the signs that pointed to this event horizon. Kate's behavior was a good barometer. Her visits to the white board would become more frequent and she would dwell there ever longer and her normally intense look would turn more toward a scowl while her eyes, as beautiful as they were, would become bloodshot and tired and her thirst for coffee would grow. Meanwhile her mind would have gone into hyper-drive and would not stop. Then came the worry, and with the worry the fear of possible failure. Kate's imagined a little ghost would appear around the corner of the white board, wearing its own bullet proof vest, but rather than "POLICE" it read "FAILURE". Then would come the storm; Castle could precipitate it but his string of odd-ball theories, curiously enough, was not the trigger. Those somehow held her at bay even though she could find them terribly annoying at times. It was when neither Castle nor anybody else on the team could come up with another scenario – especially Castle's stumped look. That would do it. Kate would call them all together and mount her soap box. Then she would start the declarations, which took on the passion and furry that only a combination of an Adolph Hitler political speech and a General George Patton declaration to his infantry commanders could rival. Anyone on the team could mentally replay it from heart: 'We're going to find him! she would declare, . . . we're going to get those sons of . . . whatever . . . who did this . . . do you hear me?' Everybody heard alright; nonessential personnel would go scurrying to other parts of the office; terrified clerks and aids that had a part in the case would look ten times busier than usual. Ryan and Esposito would be the recipients of a string of drill sergeant orders. Sometimes that particular item had already been done. Drill Sergeant Kate would command that it be done again. Occasionally Captain Montgomery would poke his head out of his office to see what was going on and sometimes he would have to invite Kate into his office for a word or two. Montgomery had some good managerial gifts. He had foresight for one thing. He was a caring boss for another, and in the case of Kate, he could also substitute as a local father figure – just enough to calm her down and get her thinking in fresh directions. But he also had a secret; one that motivated him to treat her with special interest.

Another part of the curse was the effect it had on Kate's physical and mental wellbeing. The vast majority of well-adjusted individuals in the human race can effectively leave their work at the office and go home to significant others, hobbies, chores, appointments, and recreational activities. But not Kate. The 'work hard – play hard' philosophy had served many, but Kate just worked hard. For the borderline neurotics among the population, work comes home, along with all of its problems. Combine that with any problems at home and the mixture is not healthy. Such was one of the driving forces behind Kate's continued singleness. She had few problems, if any, at home. Home was a haven of peace, a place, perhaps the only place, where she had control of things. Many an exasperated mother has had to deal with her toddler regarding the taking of naps. The toddler has found this new realization that the world is just too much fun, too filled with things to see and experience, to waste valuable time sleeping; nevertheless, physical tiredness overcomes the child and it puts up a tremendous fight to stave off sleep. Kate suffered the adult version of this problem. She would think about the case until she was just too mentally drained to go on. Even then she would not simply get ready for bed and get some rest. Her mental defenses now somewhat weakened, she would let at least a temporary diversion lead her off in another direction. The only true downtime Kate allowed herself was after a case had been successfully closed; and sometimes only after the dreaded closing reports had been properly filed. She didn't want any time to elapse so as to distort or otherwise erase the details of the case. But on those rare occasions where there was a break in the case load, she could become somewhat of a party animal. Without those occasional releases she would have darn well exploded. As it was she was only a few steps away from needing to see the NYPD's therapist. She had to have therapy to deal with her mother's death some thirteen years ago. Inside she hoped she would not have to return. She knew she had to be careful. Stepping too far over the line at the precinct would precipitate an order from Captain Montgomery for a mandatory visit and evaluation regarding being fit for continued duty. Having to make such a visit constituted another potential failure on her part, or so she thought.

Kate's hike in Central Park had been one of those releases for the week. There had been plenty of activity out there. A number of joggers had been very attractive looking men. They had made good eye contact with her and each had exchanged smiles as they passed one another. She had completed the loop around the southern third of the park and arrived back at the 86th street subway station. It was still hot as a furnace in there, the heat build-up from the previous week's swelter had not dissipated one bit, and since everyone was equally affected by the problem, she liked to think her sweaty clothing wasn't any worse than that on the rest of the travelers. She emerged from the subway station not too far from the street on which her apartment was located and finished the short hike to home. She climbed the stairs rather than using the building's elevators, let herself into her apartment, bolted the front door behind her, and immediately began peeling off those sweaty clothes on her way to the bathroom. She hit the relaxing coolness of the shower; and finally, her brain shifted in to neutral.

Having finished her shower, and feeling much more civilized and feminine, she slipped into a clean, fresh night gown and arranged the pillows so as to sit upright in bed. She had prepared a wine cooler and brought it to bed with her. There was Patterson's book along with the wine cooler setting on the night table. She picked up the book and began reading. Oh, why had she chosen _Alex Cross?_ It began reading like her life in some parallel universe. As she read on . . . Alex Cross had just been notified that a distant family member was murdered. That triggered a memory that required a long sip on the wine cooler. As he looked into the details of the gruesome death, he found connections to even more killings and mysterious disappearances. Another sip. Soon the pieces of the puzzle had begun to fall into place and all signs seemed to point to a killer within the White House, of all places. She knew from previous editions in the series that Alex Cross had faced his fair share of foes, but never had he gone against a killer who seemed as untouchable as this new madman. She took the final two sips of her drink. She soon found herself right in step with Alex Cross. Justice had to be served. She knew that Alex Cross, just like herself, would not stop until whole affair was resolved. She hauled herself out of bed, book in one hand, and empty glass in the other and went to refill the glass. She returned to bed and continued reading.

This time she couldn't put it down. Finally, around 2:00 AM she found a stopping place and quit for the night. As the critics had suggested, it was a real 'page turner'. Her mind ran on for another fifteen minutes as she quickly attended to the last personal things before turning in. This thing read like some of the adventures she and Castle had already experienced in their nearly two years together. Did he talk to his peers _that_ much? Or was this all her imagination? She remembered how their early relationship had freed Castle from his bout of writer's block. His new character Nikki Heat had given Alex Cross some competition in the world of fictional mystery novels. Secretly Kate liked Nikki Heat, but outwardly she really gave Castle a hard time. She especially did not like the cover art. But she could not escape the image formed by his powerful penmanship. He had described her whole person in exquisite detail. On the surface she acquiesced to attend his book launch party for _Heat Wave_ , mostly out of spite. Secretly she was rather giddy with the idea. It was the first in what Castle hoped would be a whole series of Nikki Heat novels. She figured since he gave her such a hard time at her workplace, she would try the same at his. It backfired!

Upon spotting her at the venue, several patrons and the photographers, all who had already read advance copies of the book, exclaimed "Look! It's Nikki Heat!" Yep, the room had indeed felt hot; in spite of her brief, former experience of walking the runway as a model. She knew full well that she could not place all the blame on Castle's imagination woven into his story line. Not this time around. She had selected a _Herve Leger_ cocktail dress, which looked like it belonged on a fashion runway model. At retail prices, the year it came out, such clothing would have been out of her budget. But she had found this one by pure chance after the next year's fashion line had been revealed. It was brand new but had been marked down to a figure that a police detective's salary could manage. It was a beautiful, soft shade of blue. It was a gorgeous dress: solid color, sleeveless, with a one-piece design and a deeply plunging neckline. What was more, it was in her exact size. It gave the impression that her body had been somehow poured in, with the dress acting as a mold. To this image, she added some costume jewelry. Her objective of drawing attention to herself had definitely succeeded. She managed to take it gracefully and continued with her grand entrance.

Captain Montgomery had met her first. She recalled the exchange:

"Umm, you clean up rather nicely detective," he said in a true compliment.

"Thank-you sir."

"Did you see the dedication?" he went on to inquire.

"No, I missed that apparently . . . what does it say?"

Montgomery was going to speak, but then halted himself. "You better see for yourself," he finally said.

She approached a tower of the latest release that had been neatly arranged on one of several tables for the event. She wondered why she hadn't looked on the very first page before. She had somehow ignored all the book jacket biography, the hype, and the front matter and just started in with reading chapter one. Well, she knew why. It was that book jacket artwork: a blackened sky except for the area of afterglow of the setting sun; and the lighted buildings of a cityscape; a wall of the concrete canyon so common in the various boroughs of NYC; and then opposite that, the silhouette of a woman, naked of course, holding a police service pistol in a strategic pose. It was clear the hair cut was hers. The notoriety from the story was already bad enough, but this just added fuel to that fire – she hated the unwanted publicity it caused . . . she reached for a mint condition copy and delicately opened it to the very front page and found: 'To the extraordinary KB, and all my friends at the 12th.' By this time Richard Castle, the happiest man alive at that moment, had seen her enter and had made his way over to her. Even if he had wanted to, it would have been impossible for him to wipe the boyish grin off his face. He saw what she was reading.

"I meant that. You really are extraordinary," he had continued sincerely . . .

But then Kate had to go and ruin the moment. That competitive devil inside her raised its ugly head and urged her to shoot back some sarcastic comments. Castle was truly stung by it.

"Well" he countered, "most people would have been rather flattered to have a whole book written about them."

Kate assured him she really wasn't. "Well maybe it just needed a better author," she had concluded.

They parted company and found their individual spaces within the crowded venue. Castle's grin had disappeared.

But the real moment of inescapable truth had come one evening some days before the book launch; back at the 12th precinct. Castle had given her an advance copy of _Heat Wave_ and had mentioned there was a pretty steamy love scene described near the end of the 8th chapter. Beckett thought she was playing it cool. She had taken the book with a petulant air, flipped her hair at him in disgust, scowled at the cover art, and tossed the book into her tote bag beside her desk. But that wasn't all. She found a couple of real opportunities to further wound his ego during the course of the day's work. She had set him up using her mock sincerity; and when he came back with an innocent, 'Really?' she went in for the sting. 'Oh Castle, you're so easy' she had tauntingly replied in both instances. For the time being he had excused her unctuous behavior. Quitting time came and the office emptied out and it seemed that Castle had left as well; she didn't know where he had disappeared to. Then curiosity hit hard. What had he imagined about her this time? She had to know right then and there, while scanning the near empty office, she grabbed the tote bag containing the book, and sneaked off to the women's bathroom with it. She didn't have to go; she just needed a place to hide. Castle was about to leave the office and saw her from behind, heading down the hall toward the women's room, tote bag in hand. He could tell the book was still in there. Now he too could not resist the golden opportunity to pay back some of those jabs from earlier that day; so, he pulled something akin to a frat boy prank. She had that 'Kate Beckett on a mission' look and now it was time for the perfect a payback. He waited just a few moments, opened the door to the women's room, and sneaked a glance to make sure it wasn't occupied by anyone else but Kate Beckett; to his relief it wasn't. He crept into the adjacent stall, then popped his head over the top and caught her searching the text with great interest. He didn't know anyone's face could contort with that degree of shock and surprise or even turn that shade of red. He thought the whole thing was absolutely hilarious and had told her the scene she was looking for was on page 105; on the other hand, she was wondering if she would ever fully forgive him for it. He made his exit before another woman might enter. She started reading the scene. . . Oh man, she reflected, just how well did he know her? After taking a good fifteen minutes to regain her composure and a few touch ups in front of the mirror at the sink, she gathered her things together and walked out. Apparently, nobody else saw her as she made a hasty exit from the precinct house via the stairs. Their game was tied on the 'I gotcha' scoreboard.

Fortunately, Kate's late Friday night drifted into a lazy Saturday morning. No calls from the precinct – that was good. Kate gave Lanie a call to see if she was in the possession of the same good fortune. She was. Kate mentioned that a temporary exhibit, 'Buddhism along the Silk Road; 5th–8th Century' had just opened at the Metropolitan Museum of Art and did Lanie care to come with her? It wasn't Lanie's cup of tea, but she decided to kill a few hours and humor Kate. They both arrived at 82nd street and 5th Avenue at nearly the same time and climbed the broad steps amongst the throngs of visitors and tourists. Once inside and on the way to the temporary exhibition gallery, they passed the area where Claude Monet's works usually resided. The paintings were displayed on the second floor in gallery 819. _Water Lilies_ was on display - not out on loan as was periodically the case. She gave it a sideways glance and remembered the Spy Ventures murder case that had closed not that many weeks before. Spies exchanging secrets . . . she replayed that line of testimony to herself. Then she began to wonder which of Monet's works dealing with water lilies the vic's lover had been talking about. There were at least four such paintings and the Met had three of them; two hanging in the corner of 819 and the third, more vibrant example hanging in 822. She broke out of her daydream and turned her attention back toward Lanie. What she thought she saw next put her heart right into her throat. As she turned her gaze forward, she caught movement at about the two o'clock position, of a man with the same height, build, profile, and gait as Richard Castle, walking toward another gallery. Was it _him_? Could it be that he had slipped into NYC and come to the museum to do some research for his latest book? A second glance proved it not to be so. But Whoa! She thought to herself; a fraction of a second more and she would have started running toward him. Lanie had seen her tense up for an instant.

"Anything wrong?"

"Oh" gasped Kate, "everything's fine."

"Uh huh."

If amusement and exasperation could somehow be mixed together that would be how Lanie felt about such moments. Kate would put up this smoke screen thinking that nobody could see in; but at the same time, she herself could not see out. Like Lanie didn't know this from numerous past experiences with Kate regarding her reactions to a man she was beginning to like, if not, really love. It was not the time to get into a deep girl-to-girl talk about love interests, so she let it go. Kate would come to her when the going really got tough. And as always, Lanie would be ready. They killed the rest of the afternoon together.

Clearly Kate had some more thinking to do. She had not expected such strong feelings to surface so suddenly; simply upon imagining Castle's physical presence. Then there was Josh Davidson. She was physically attracted to him; even from his DMV photo she had wanted to at least to get to know the person who rode that motorcycle. Well, she got her wish. He was quite a guy, an MD, a surgeon no less, and not at all pompous. He put his skills toward a good deal of work for the underprivileged in the city as well as humanitarian work elsewhere. He was to remain in town for the summer and she replayed her overall impression during that first secret date with him. But even the time she had seen him on his motorcycle, once riding up to meet her, had not evoked anything like that feeling she'd experienced when she'd thought that she had just seen Richard Castle in the distance. She hoped her relationship with Josh would grow. She was pretty sure that her relationship with Rick was probably going to slip away. Unfortunately, it was a relationship only in their minds; in some brief moments of imagining what could be, which Kate liked to believe was more in Castle's arena than hers; in real life it was strictly platonic. Or more to the point, it was a couple of alpha personalities in a sparing contest of wits at the office. They had some kind of relationship, some kind of chemistry when mixed together, but it was hard to put a label on it. Rick didn't even know that she had called it off with Tom Demming. It was to have been that great moment of revelation until Gina showed up and killed the chance. For now, it seemed Josh was the only one on the horizon.

Meanwhile Castle had some more thinking to do. Now going into the 8th week of his summer encampment in the Hamptons, things had hit a snag. It was becoming a string of lousy days in paradise. The Hamptons was not just one place. It was like saying one was going to the Poconos in northeastern PA, or the Outer Banks in NC, or the Cotswolds in England. All of them are examples of distinct geographic and cultural regions – in other words, they are little worlds unto themselves. Castle's slice of the Hamptons was an exclusive one, rather, all the slices were exclusive. All the hamlets and areas surrounding the resort towns of South Hampton and East Hampton were the summer playground of some of the most elite people in the world. It was the home of many rich and famous; and rich and infamous, with the common denominator being rich. The Hamptons took up the extreme south east corner of Long Island. It was not only money and culture that separated this area from the rest of New York; it was also the distance. Long Island was appropriately named – it was long, about one hundred twenty miles from the west side, which housed the world known as Brooklyn, to the east end, which terminated in this world.

Americans love their hot dogs and hamburgers; thus, Coney Island, on the south-south-west side of Long Island would be a good place to start a tour. One could cut northward through the heart of Brooklyn on the Oceanic Parkway or take the Belt Parkway around the west side, hugging the water. One would see the mixture of business and residence buildings. There would be the older well-established areas to the north with their numerous brownstones lining street after street. But then one would find some zones on the outskirts. Bad places, mostly forgotten real estate that exhibits the blight from the changes in the business climate and the numerous economic downturns over the last six decades. Along with it the underprivileged – that segment of humanity that had been edged out, lost in the shuffle, and otherwise forgotten. Homelessness, squalor, drug dealing and drug users, crime, and hidden headquarters for street gang activity were just some of the byproducts of that condition. Just the kind of stuff to keep the NYPD rather busy. Stretching further northeast, one encounters the borough of Queens, which remains a driving force in the overall NYC picture. The mixture of peoples and languages is complex, and the population density is among the highest on the east coast. The area has two of the busiest airports in the world, well known major sports complexes, and scores of high-rise apartments tapering off slowly, as one moves out of the urban center, to single family homes. The commuter flux between these areas and the rest of NYC is legendary. And that's how the progression would continue: with middle class, upper middle class, well-to-do, and then as the extremities reached that beachfront property around the perimeter, mostly the elite. The proliferation of exclusive country clubs and golf courses might offer some indicator of this progression. If one wanted to roughly trace that diagonal, they could catch I-278, the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, from a ramp off Hamilton Avenue in Brooklyn; continue NE, past the junctions with the Brooklyn and Manhattan and Williamsburg bridges, until the junction of I-495, the Queens Midtown Expressway. After a few more miles and a change of names, I-495 becomes the Long Island Expressway at the junction with I-678, near Flushing Meadows. Finally, I-495 terminates at New York State Route 25, near the upscale Tanger Outlet Shopping Mall. Welcome to the western outskirts of the Hamptons. The decades old joke line: 'Keep the Hamptons Green . . . Bring Money' is no joke.

The Derrick Storm series of books had been good to both its publisher and its author. Just how much Richard Castle was worth was something he never bragged about. Sure, he was quite the showoff at times, and indeed had some of the toys of rich folks, but he was never flamboyant just for the sake of it, nor was he frivolous regarding the important stuff. He had made those mistakes from his first successes but had learned self-discipline from them. His investments, on top of a steady stream of royalties from his books, had also produced well. It had allowed him to acquire a slice of the Hamptons pie where the going price for just a median-sized slice might range between five or six million US dollars. Right now, Richard Castle didn't have anything to brag about. A man who had the means to get most anything he wanted, was trapped in his paradise, but was unable to reach the two goals he wanted most – a finished manuscript of _Naked Heat_ , and the muse who inspired it, Kate Beckett. To add to this irony, he could hear the faint strains of the Beatles' famous hit " _Can't Buy Me Love"_ coming from a cabana up the beach as he was taking his daily walk.

The daily walk had been part of his routine so as to get at least a couple of hours of physical exercise. The breeze off the water made this outing tolerable, but the sun was fiercely hot, making a hat and sunscreen highly recommended accessories. Up to this point his routine had been rather productive; not that it was all work and no play. Most everyone, that is those who chose to, knew their neighbors; or at least knew something about them. For Castle, the walks could be peppered with visits, or at least some over the dunes conversations, as one was passing between beachfront properties. Castle did not own a boat, but he knew a number of people who did. He had made the wise choice not to buy one and leave it docked in the marina ninety-nine percent of the time without use. He liked Manhattan and its land-based diversions, but he was neither opposed to the idea nor afraid to take to the water in a small craft. That is if one could call some of these forty-foot plus craft small. Drinks and fishing with a local captain sometimes helped him with his creative side. He never lacked for things to talk about. He really liked people and was always interested in their view of the world and if they went into their view of life, that was even better. He always offered to pay for that super-expensive marine fuel consumed during those outings. "Go ahead, fill it all the way up" he'd offer. Of course, a captain's daughter or the captain's wife might be company at any given time, and to see these young to middle-aged women could painfully remind him of his situation. His daughter was far away in Princeton, NJ at a summer program. Although he received a combination of texts, emails, and the occasional video call session with her via computer some evenings, he wondered how things were actually going with her. He knew she was sensible, yet he hoped teenage hormones wouldn't either rule or otherwise ruin her overall summer experience. It was a worry generated strictly out of fatherly love and concern for his only child, but his ex-wives were something different. The first one was about 3,300 miles from where he was at present, which was more or less a safe distance, and the second was too close for comfort, and Kate Beckett was about a hundred thirty-five miles or so away, but she may as well have been living on the moon. He didn't worry so much about Martha. If something was amiss she'd call – so far, she had not. That meant the summer tour must have been going well.

It was now evening, and he was out on his deck. He could hear the waves hitting the beach in the distance. The sound was mixed with a soft whirr of the swimming pool filter pump housed in the machine hutch beneath the deck. The day had been especially hot; he had kept out of the sun and had drunk a good deal of lemonade, which had been enough non-alcoholic intake for the day. On this particular evening, he had been in the mood for a good slug of Scotch. The moon was in its waning phase and had risen shortly after 10:00 PM. He watched it as the evening wore on. A little before 3:00 AM, the moon had made its way well to the west and was sinking behind a string of clouds. The air was getting thicker and more humid. The breeze came and went. Tired, stiff, and generally uncomfortable, Castle looked down at his night's work. Just six lousy paragraphs – that was it. His next book in the new series, _Naked Heat_ , was cooling off again.

He didn't know if Gina had gone to bed yet or was watching some late-night TV. She was probably waiting for him to come in, so she could quiz him on his progress for the day. It wasn't like she was there every day and evening to supervise him. She couldn't be. The demands of her work at the publishing house required a great deal of time at the office. Obviously, Castle wasn't the only contributor to the works being edited and produced. Furthermore, it didn't matter how prolific he was, or how well his books sold; he was not like the proverbial rock band. High maintenance did not come with his contract; nevertheless, Gina found her way down the Long Island Expressway at least once a week and would stay for at least two nights and the better part of three days each time. It was getting old as Castle was beginning to realize that the second time around was not going to be any better than the first time around with Gina. The time had gone by, but the problems between the two of them had neither faded out nor been left behind in the dust. Some of the old differences were resurfacing and neither one of them wanted to muster the effort to resolve them. They had tried the cozy, let's rekindle it approach, for a couple of weeks at the beginning of the summer, but these had dissolved into sleeping on opposite sides of the king bed, with as much gap as possible between them. Later on, Gina had just settled into one of the guest rooms when she stayed over. Unless they put forth more effort in the relationship, they both knew they were fooling themselves in the meantime.

It wasn't like they didn't talk because they talked plenty – but mostly about work, and this 3:00 AM session was no different. She tormented him often about not seeing into anybody else's world except his own. He had countered that he had seen literally dozens of worlds both real and imagined. She had demanded to know why is it you cannot see into mine? Perhaps it was because he didn't want to, having experienced the business and publicity side of the book marketing process. Even though he enjoyed the grand entrance and party atmosphere at a book event, he certainly did not want to travel further down that rabbit hole. Of course, he had to spend a great deal of time contending with the chief editor and his staff; worrying about touch-ups, story continuity and accuracy of any factual places referenced; arguments with the copy editor over what should be or need not be grammatical corrections; and complete re-writes of some chapters. Then there were the very final go-to-print preparations. The final review of a galley, the supplementary materials, the cover art that comprised that last lap toward the finish line were items that seemed to drag on forever. Unlike the marathon runner there would be no rest for the writer after crossing the finish line because as soon as the presses started rolling so started his promotional tour, so that's how it usually went. What more did she want him to see? That it was hard on her? Sure, it was hard on her. It was hard on anybody who held the job. Yet something held her to it the same as something held him to his writing. The difference, in his biased opinion, was that she did it for the high profile, well-paying job, with big bonuses for signed contracts; and being visible, but not too visible, in public and professional circles. He did it, as he had said many times before, because he felt that many needed a voice but couldn't find one. His pen gave them one, even if it just reflected reality, it still exposed that reality to public view. It was why he spent a great deal of time on research before he even touched the computer keyboard. They became silent for a moment. Then she had said something to the effect of 'Well then, good night, I'm turning in . . . don't bother getting up too early . . . I'll be on my way before the traffic gets heavy.' Fat chance. The morning traffic was always heavy. The reminder of his motivation for writing spun Castle's thoughts back to Kate Beckett's mother. They had been working to find a voice for her and what she stood for. A terrible urge to call Kate came upon him, but it was 3:30 AM and he was sure she would not take it well. Maybe later tomorrow.

Richard Castle was also a borderline neurotic. It was not fear of any personal failure that drove him. He had an extensive list of failures in his life; numerous relationships, two marriages, twenty-three rejection letters on his first manuscript alone, some real financial blunders, and some nagging regrets from his earlier years. With the passage of time and some mental effort he had managed to shake all of that off, and in the process matured just a little bit. What drove Castle was the need to be relevant. He needed more than anything to feel useful to himself and to society in general. He had picked a line of work that made the latter rather difficult. Perhaps it was a good thing he still hadn't called Kate. Had he learned about her new, very talented, humanitarian boyfriend Josh, his downward spiral might have become a non-recoverable crash and burn event. In the past, he had found his personal need satisfied mostly in raising his daughter Alexis without much help from a domestic partner. Gina had not been all that great of a step-mother. In those years, working from home had not been the norm for employees of large corporations. Only people like Castle could somehow swing such an arrangement. So, Gina spent many long days at the office, and upon arriving home was often too tired to deal with domestic demands. Alexis was about to finish grade school, had her own activities, and was always more drawn to her natural father. She never had established a close bond with her new step mother. Not that they hated each other; it was more a matter of mutual toleration and understanding of the situation. On the other hand, Gina claimed that Richard was the one who put up a protective fence around Alexis to such a degree that her step-mother was left out. Alexis had a firm grasp of the overall relationship dynamics, which was very, very mature for her young age.

For Castle, rejection was all too often a fact of life. It was not so much rejection of his literary work. There were more rejection letters than just a result of that first submission. Forget the work, what about the person? It fueled his need for acceptance. In this phase of his life, true and sincere acceptance was very hard to come by. When he was successful, he gained critics and envious detractors. When he failed, he became a nobody. Either way he was left feeling alone. To be accepted for just his books, by emotional fans who wanted various surfaces of their bodies autographed, felt just as superficial and temporary as those signatures would become. Over the past couple of days, he had begun to think that he was not Richard Castle but Richard Cory. Yeah, that was it: _Richard Cory_ the narrative poem written by Edwin Arlington Robinson way back in 1897. Here he was - Castle, locked away in the Hamptons, with the perfect opportunity to become a recluse just like that author. He had everything the fictitious Richard Cory had including the lack of sincere acceptance by those whom he respected.

After Gina went to her room, he leaned back in a recliner chair and began drifting off to sleep. His fleeting consciousness left him hoping that he would not awaken still feeling like Richard Cory. He awoke a few hours later to the noise of the front door closing. Gina had made her exit. He felt no better physically than when he had entered last night – in fact he felt worse. The grungy, slept-in clothing had to go. Mentally, he looked forward to a new day, physically, a massage would have been nice. He indulged himself with a good, thirty-minute, comforting shower, which had managed to put the brakes on his downward spiral.

His mind freshened up along with his body. During the shower he began to recall those occasions that had made a difference to him. His mother had become proud of him even though she often reminded him he still had a significant amount of growing up to do. His daughter loved him for who he was. He was a 'cool' dad – not many teenagers felt either their mothers or fathers were the least bit 'cool'. He recalled further his dedication at the beginning of _Heat Wave_ ". . . and to all my friends at the 12th" They were his friends. They had let him into their circle. To gain acceptance within any organization of professionals such as that was a major feat. Initially he had no formal training in their field, no qualifications, just a desire to help. They had recognized that; even though he had to endure being the butt of some of their jokes and pranks. But he was an exceptionally good sport about it and maybe that why they respected him in this aspect as well. After all they had received plenty of the same coming up as rookies on the force. Then there were the perfect strangers he'd meet by chance. They would hesitate a moment, then recognize who he was. They would sincerely complement him on his work; on how it opened their eyes to something; how they had empathized with one of the characters; or how they had just simply enjoyed the read. Even the positive criticism, which was frequent, and reached him via every conceivable means of communication, had up-built him. Additionally, he got plenty more of that at the poker games with his peers. The mayor of a world class city even had taken the time to get to know him and it wasn't for cheap political reasons.

He made up his mind. Nikki Heat would triumph. _Naked Heat_ would go to press, and soon – muse or no muse. Gina present or not. He hoped not. He just needed a few more weeks. If he kept his head on straight, the whole project had a high probability of making the finish line. Later that day he reached Gina at her office and politely asked her not to come back to the Hamptons for the rest of the summer. He declared a truce; no, their relationship wasn't over; and no, this wasn't a request to revert back to author-publisher only. He just felt that he needed a little more time to think about it and a little more space to do it in. He solemnly promised her that the final chapters of the manuscript would be finished before the end of August, maybe even sooner than that. She retorted that either one of the propositions had better not prove to be just another 'Richard Castle promise'. He reassured her they weren't – he meant every word of it. He wasn't sure where he'd accomplish this task; neither the Hamptons nor the loft in Manhattan seemed to be productive venues for him any longer. After concluding that call he longed to hear what Kate was up to. No – better not. Any conversation like that was a double-edged sword; one he did not want to fall upon. Unless one had a very closely guarded phone number or personal email account for Richard Castle, he couldn't be reached. He winked off the radar screen as far as the rest of the world was concerned. He set to work with renewed vigor.

 _A/N: We return to canon in the next installment, mainly because I couldn't think of a better way to force the reunion than the screen play already offered._


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: I hope you enjoy the less choppy, plot-line tweaked, and somewhat improved version. We pick up with Season 3, episode 1: "A Deadly Affair" and stick closely with canon, because this chapter in particular is just too darn funny to leave out._

 _Disclaimer: I do not own Castle – all credit goes to Andrew Marlow and the writing team for ABC's Castle; my thanks to them for providing a foundation for this little exercise._

9

The third week in September had arrived, and with it came the first day of fall. The 12th precinct had completely returned to its normal routine as in the days before they had even heard of Richard Castle, save those few who did some mystery reading in their spare time. The vast majority, however, were of the same opinion as Esposito, they dealt with various aspects of murder investigations all day; the last thing they wanted to do when they went home at night was to read more about them, even if they were only fictitious. Over the past few days some of the team members would have done well to pick up some reading just to pass the time. The case load had dropped off to zero. The Reeves case had grown completely cold. Esposito was catching up on world affairs by reading a news magazine. Meanwhile, Ryan was sitting at his desk trying to balance a raw egg on its tip. It wasn't working. While all of this highly technical police activity was going on, Kate made her entrance with a few old file folders tucked under her arm. She passed their desks, took note of the boredom, but said nothing as she passed. As she completed a few steps beyond Ryan's desk, she heard the unmistakable plop-splat of an egg dropped on the floor. She stopped and turned slowly to face her two partners.

"Are we re-enacting the Humpty Dumpty crime scene?" she asked with a straight face.

All she got in return were two sheepish grins.

"Don't you guys have anything to do?" she asked again.

They nodded a 'No' in unison.

"Well now you do," she replied as she dropped a couple of the old folders on their desks.

All three of them knew it was just busy-work. But busy-work was better than no work at all; and certainly better than something either the Captain or the Lieutenant had been known to dredge up during slow spells.

"Ryan, you know that your balancing the egg thing on the day of the equinox is just an urban legend," she called out as she returned to her desk.

Ryan, who had just finished cleaning up the results of his failed experiment, spun around to face her desk. "No it isn't, I saw Castle do it last year," he replied.

Oops! He had broken that unwritten rule. She looked at him sternly but said nothing. As she turned her attention to something else, Esposito came up behind Ryan and gave him a smart cuff on the back of the head.

"What's wrong with you?" he hissed, but quietly enough so Kate wouldn't overhear.

It was just before 10:00 AM. Captain Montgomery was on a conference call with someone. It seemed that half of the precinct personnel were on the phone. So as not to be left out, Kate's desk phone rang showing the dispatcher's office extension. Ryan and Esposito watched the expression on Kate's face from a distance noting that brightened somewhat. They wondered if that meant Castle was calling to brighten their collective future but no such luck. The only reason Kate's face had brightened momentarily was that now they had something to do. She hung up the phone.

"OK guys, let's go. We have work to do. There's been a murder," she stated in her all-business tone.

Everyone felt a little better when they got outside. It was the time of year when one could use a sweater or light jacket in the early mornings but could wish for air conditioning in the mid-afternoons since the sun could still be quite strong. In the returning coolness, the subway stations were a reminder of how much summer heat was still stored underground. The mouth of a station would exhale its hot, humid, and unpleasant smelling breath whenever a train would rush through. Rather than deal with the subway the team signed out a patrol car and headed toward the crime scene. If they had really wanted to pass the time, they could have probably walked the nine or so blocks from the precinct house to the crime scene.

The scene was not pretty. They never were. A young woman had exited a window about four floors above some local shops at ground level on Prince Street. The victim was entangled among the canvas and framework, which had once been one of the shop's awnings. Kate looked it over as she approached. It looked so eerily similar to the crime scene in the opening of _Heat Wave_. The passers-by and the shop owners were clearly still in shock. Esposito and Ryan were slightly behind Kate, also reviewing the general scene. Ryan muttered to himself:

"Talk about your Humpty Dumpty . . ."

CSU was setting up the crime scene barrier tape. Dr. Lanie Parish was on a portable step ladder making her preliminary examination. The team waited for her assessment.

"Well it wasn't the fall that killed her," concluded Lanie. "She took a single GSW to the back and it went clear through her."

That conclusion made it clearly a crime scene now and not the result of some freak accident.

"Looks like Humpty Dumpty was pushed," whispered Esposito, who was standing right behind Ryan.

"Funny," he retorted.

They continued their visual sweep of the area. As Ryan expanded his gaze he noted movement in the window of the McNally Jackson Bookstore almost directly across the street from the crime scene. Esposito's gaze was drawn there also. They couldn't believe their eyes. One of the shop workers was placing a life-sized hardboard stand-up figure of Richard Castle in the storefront window. The figure was holding a copy of _Naked Heat._ Well, his book had made it to print after all. What was more, they had added a poster indicating that readers could meet the author at that very shop on Friday, starting at 7:00 PM.

"Hey look . . . it's Castle," exclaimed Ryan.

"Looks like he finished his book," Esposito joined in.

Kate spun around instantly to match the direction of their gaze. Kate did her best to give no outward signs of emotion, but she was having another ' _Water Lilies_ moment'. She could feel a brief hot flash envelop her neck and torso followed by the travelling wave of a shiver that propagated from her calf muscles right up to the crown of her head. Lanie was studying Kate and instantly knew what was going on because she had seen it before, at the art museum.

One of the others said: "At least he could have called . . .," not addressed to anyone in particular.

"Yeah, or at least he could have sent us an advance copy of the book," concluded Lanie, just to see if it might have further effect on Kate.

As Kate's little personal episode passed, she began barking orders.

"Okay you two, that's enough . . . I'm sure if he had wanted to call he would have by now . . . it's obvious he has better things to do," she stated tersely. "I want you two to go upstairs and figure out what happened before our vic took that dive out the window. Meanwhile I'll get some more details from down here and then join you . . .," she said as she let her voice tail off somewhat.

She tried to refocus on the tasks at hand, but her gaze kept shifting back to Castle's life-size image, and she had to agree with the same sentiments that Ryan had just muttered to himself moments before; Castle was indeed ruggedly handsome. Little wonder women recognized him instantly, but handsome or not, she had no intention of going to that bookstore to meet him in public. That wasn't her idea of a get together moment, and the more she thought about it, she wasn't even sure she wanted such a moment. Nevertheless, she had a dozen questions for him; not to mention a piece of her mind for ignoring them all summer. The moment she had reserved for him, if it were ever to come, would not be out in public.

The uniforms had begun their routine of interviewing any possible witnesses and asking if anyone had been seen fleeing the scene. So far there had been no useful leads. Kate tried her best to concentrate on the details. She just wanted to finish up with CSU and then find her way upstairs to join the rest of the team. They had managed to get the body down and loaded into the city examiner's van; with that the crowd began to disperse. Kate's gaze wandered back to the bookstore window while she stared at Castle's image for a good fifteen seconds or more, then she turned slightly. The photographer had done a noteworthy job because Castle's artificial gaze seemed to follow her. She couldn't take it any longer and headed for the stairs as quickly as possible. Meanwhile Lanie, now housed in the privacy of the van, could continue with her preliminary assessment of the victim.

The vic had been identified as Chloe Whitman. They managed to unlock her mobile phone and extract the recent call log. They contacted the vic's boyfriend, Evan Murphy who was now on his way over to the scene. Already there were more questions than answers because Chloe appeared to be packed to go somewhere. The room gave no clues as to the murder's motives. Kate picked up the vic's purse, noting that the contents were completely intact, so it wasn't a robbery gone wrong. Kate further noted there were at least two hundred dollars, if not more, in twenty-dollar bills still in her wallet. She wondered where this young woman might have been headed. CSU was finishing up with the gruesome task of photographing the room and checking for prints. Clearly the vic had been shot in the apartment. She and the bullet had exited the window over the street. Since there was nothing they could use to determine the bullet's initial trajectory, there was no sense in pursuing that evidence any further. The team would let CSU determine how best to use their time and resources. Meanwhile the vic's boyfriend had arrived. He took one look around the room and turned pale as the reality began to sink in.

"I know this is difficult," Kate began, "did Chloe have problems with anyone in her life recently?"

Evan couldn't think of anything. No enemies in her life; certainly no one violent. She was a prep-school chemistry teacher; everybody loved her. She wasn't a law-breaker; the worst thing he had ever seen her do was Jay-walk. Evan went on to reveal that they had been dating for about six months or so.

"Was she coming over to see you?"

"No" replied Evan with a puzzled look as he noticed the overnight bag on the floor. "That doesn't make any sense, she has to teach class tomorrow . . . she wouldn't just leave without telling anyone."

Upon seeing Lanie enter the apartment Kate excused herself. Lanie had a piece of evidence – a cocktail napkin enclosed in a clear zip-lock bag.

"She had this clutched so tightly in her hand that I almost missed it."

The team looked at an address written on it. That was the only information they got, but it was better than nothing.

"That's over in Tribeca" stated Esposito.

Kate told the rest of the team to make sure someone took responsibility for getting all of Chloe's personal effects, which had been strewn about, collected and sent over to the evidence room. She quickly headed down the stairs and back to the patrol car. She called in a change of location regarding the lead they had found on the cocktail napkin. She also wanted to check the proximity of the new location with that of Josh's residence. She was pleased with the idea of going over to his neighborhood but worried at the same time. What if they should meet again by chance? He would surely recognize her if he saw her and then he'd make a scene and then she would have a lot of awkward explanation to offer the rest of the homicide team – especially Lanie. She couldn't keep track of his complicated hospital schedule. Anything could happen, and it was way too late to make alternate plans, with Ryan and Esposito already heading toward the patrol car.

The homicide team made it to one of the upper floors of the high rise that contained the apartment of interest. The results of a reverse directory search revealed the apartment was occupied by a Maya Santori. It was all quiet in the hallway given that the hour was now after lunch time for most folks. It appeared that most neighbors were out on their daily routines – most likely at work. As they proceeded down the hall to the apartment at the end they noticed something was not right. The door to the address they sought had been forced open and was still ajar. They braced themselves for the standard NYPD protocol when making an entrance on police business. And they did mean business, all three had their service weapons drawn and ready.

They entered silently and found themselves in an apartment that was every bit as big as Castle's loft. It had been furnished nicely but was now in shambles. Someone had trashed the place; obviously looking for something. It was too broad of a mess to imply a struggle between a couple of people. The décor comprised all kinds of artsy objects. There were a number of sculptures in various materials. Curiously, several of the metallic ones had been dismantled or broken. Unfortunately, human blood was also in evidence. The team heard the noise of movement in one of the interior rooms. They went on full alert, fanned out, and mutually covered one another. Ryan saw the figure first but didn't know if it was an intruder or the perpetrator. The team identified themselves loudly. They detected more movement by the unidentified figure. Ryan went into a firing stance but Esposito had the better vantage point as he saw Ryan reach for the trigger, but before Ryan could pull it, Esposito knocked his arm causing the shot to go wide to the left. Esposito could not believe his eyes. His first supposition had been correct. On closer inspection it really was who he had only guessed at moments before. All three detectives had fanned into the bedroom. A woman, shot dead, was lying on the bed amidst an ample blood stain, with a man still standing there with a revolver in his hand. The man obeyed the police orders and made no further movement. He raised his eyes to meet theirs. Kate looked back at the man in nearly complete disbelief. She was looking once again at Richard Castle for the third time that morning; only this time it was the live version of him.

"Castle?" she managed.

Castle figured that since they had recognized him everything would be Okay. He forgot that he was still holding a gun. The homicide team's training evoked a different response. They went on a fierce offensive and commanded him in unison to drop the gun, along with a few other nasty descriptive terms associated with their individual opinions as to the kind of person who would commit murder. Castle was jerked back into reality but still rather puzzled by all the commotion. He finally put the gun down.

"Guys . . ."

Kate cut him short, stepped forward, and told him to turn around with his hands behind his back.

"Richard Castle, you're under arrest for the murder of Maya Santori," she stated flatly, while she briskly snapped a set of handcuffs on him, and she was not the least bit gentle about it either.

"Guys . . . it's not what it seems," he protested.

"It never is," replied Kate.

They called into the precinct with the developments, requested additional patrol cars and the CSU, and ushered Castle down to street level. No one had anything else to say for the time being. This turn of events had definitely not been the one Kate expected. It looked like she was going to get her moment with Castle; although it was still quasi-public. They had arrived back at the precinct in separate patrol cars. She had ushered him into the interrogation room. The box only looked private, but it was more like an arena. Kate knew there were probably half a dozen folks from the precinct besides Ryan and Esposito crammed into that little observation room behind the two-way mirror. Beckett has Castle in the box for round two – she was certain the word probably had spread across the homicide office like wildfire. Someone was probably pretending to sell tickets to the event. She would have to choose her words carefully. Everything was being recorded. Castle was seated when she entered a second time, crossed the room and took a seat opposite his. She glared at him but remained silent for a moment. Castle was just a little nervous yet at the same time rather amused.

"Something is different . . . did you redecorate?" he began with his usual Castle foolishness.

Like the box ever got redecorated. The only difference would have been that it was somehow more battered and dingier than the last time he remembered it.

"You look good," he continued.

Kate's lips twitched. "So do you . . .," she began softly, ". . . for murder!" she concluded forcefully.

"I missed you too," Castle snorted. "Look, what are you so mad about? . . . I didn't kill her . . . It's not what it looks like", he repeated.

"As I said before, it never is," she shot back. "So, what were you doing there?"

Castle became serious for once. He went on to explain that he had received a call from Maya. The reason she gave for the call was that she was in some kind of trouble, and could he come over right away. She didn't want to go directly to the police, but she knew Castle worked with the NYPD and knew Beckett. He stopped right there; expecting her to throw something at him. When she didn't, he went on to explain that upon arriving he found the door forced open and the place trashed just like the homicide team had found it. She was already dead when he found her. He heard their entrance, became frightened that whoever had done the deed, was coming back, and had picked up the gun he found on the floor for self-defense.

"Castle!," interrupted Kate, "you were seen standing over a dead body holding a gun."

"What part of this don't you understand? . . . She was already dead . . . Why don't you believe me?"

"Because you make things up . . . isn't that what you do, make up stories for a living?"

Kate's mind raced back to their very first meeting. He hadn't changed much. However, this time, it was Kate who was going to inject the double entendre. She hoped the audience in the observation room would let some of it go over their heads. She knew Esposito and Ryan would catch most of it and she'd deal with them later, somehow. When Captain Montgomery heard that Castle was back under such unusual circumstances, he joined the others in the observation room. They listened to the continuing conversation through the monitor:

"So why didn't you call?" Kate said as she gave him 'the you're in big trouble look'.

Castle was mentally trying to determine if the question pertained to the summer of silence or to the murder investigation so he chose the middle of the road.

"I was going to, but you guys got there before I could."

"How did you know the victim, were you in some kind of a relationship with her?"

"A business relationship . . . I bought a couple of sculptures from her."

"Were you sleeping with her?" blurted Kate.

"No, I wasn't sleeping with her . . . I don't see how that's relevant," he said as he studied her body language.

"Really, I was going to call, until you and 'Annie Oakley' showed up."

Meanwhile back in the observation room, Kate's anger and frustration had somehow filtered through the glass and settled on Esposito.

"Annie Oakley," questioned Montgomery.

Ryan admitted that he had been the one to almost shoot Castle at the crime scene.

"Maybe you should have . . .," snorted Esposito, "it would have served him right for not calling."

A moment later, one of the uniforms delivered a folder with the results from ballistics regarding the gun used in Maya's murder. The three of them stepped out into the lighted area in order to review the results. Kate was still in the box giving Castle a piece of her mind. She pitched the photo of the first victim of the morning, Chloe Whitman, on the table in front of Castle.

"What about her . . . did you have some kind of relationship with her too?" hissed Kate.

Castle swore he had never seen that woman in his life; and reaffirmed that his encounter with the second victim had only been for the purchase of the sculptures; and that Maya had been the one to call him.

"I don't know about you and your relationships anymore," she continued, "you're with this one and then another one; and you go off to the Hamptons for the summer on an extended date with your ex-wife and publishing agent . . .," she trailed off.

Castle surely could not deny how it might have looked, but he became tired of the verbal whipping.

"Well what about you," he countered, "whatever happened to that cop boyfriend of yours?"

There was a brief pause in the action. Castle could tell by Kate's look that something in that department had changed.

"You broke up with him?"

She nodded. "So, who's your girlfriend now?" she started in on him again.

"You know who it is," he replied with his evasive smirk firmly in place.

Kate's facial expression did not soften.

Based on the results up to that point, it looked like Castle had been telling the truth. Captain Montgomery, in his typical way, opened the door to the box and asked to have a word with Kate. Upon seeing Montgomery's figure at the door, Castle brightened up.

"Hey, Captain," he began.

Montgomery's expression emanated the air of 'you're still in deep trouble son'.

"Not you too," yelped Castle, his face now crestfallen.

They left him in the box with the door closed. Montgomery explained that the ballistics report showed the murder weapon to be a 0.45 caliber; and the gun Castle had been holding was only a 0.38. Furthermore, Lanie's preliminary examination of the entry and exit wounds on both victims indicated a very high probability that both of them had been killed by the same gun.

"So, Castle was telling the truth," Kate repeated with a mixture of both regret and relief in her voice.

"It would appear so," said Montgomery in an understanding tone, "but I can hold him here twenty-four hours if you'd like."

Kate decided against it. She opened the door to the box and informed Castle that the bullets didn't match the gun; and for that reason, he was free to go. Castle bounded out of the box like a little school boy who had just been informed that he was late for recess.

With that major drama averted, Montgomery had moved on down the corridor toward the other side of the office. Ryan and Esposito were standing in the aisle, about halfway between the observation room door and their desks, just to see what would happen next when Castle joined Beckett in the aisle way.

"So, what's our next move?" he inquired as if nothing had ever happened between them.

"You don't have a next move . . . you're a witness to one of the murders . . . you can't be on the case . . . so go home Castle, just _go home_!" she replied with finality.

"But . . . you can't mean that," he countered.

"I do mean it," she began, "Go home! . . . Go back to your life, your relationships, your Hamptons, your novels, and your book parties . . ." she continued, getting more worked up as she let it spill out.

Even a novice could figure this one out. Her heart had been wounded along the way; and a fresh dose of salt had somehow just been poured into it. The slight, almost uncontrolled, wail in her voice during that last reply had given it away; and it had acted as a hardening agent for the rest of the team. Castle took it in, then turned and looked around the office. He met the faces of Ryan and Esposito and read them as to the climate in the precinct. The forecast was downright stormy. They glared back at him in disapproval, not only for Kate's sake but for his neglect in confiding in them as well. They felt just as betrayed as Kate did. Castle got the message and made his exit from the 4th floor with his proverbial tail between his legs. After he left, Esposito called over to Kate:

"You should have locked him up just for spite."

She replied that it would have been unethical to make her innocent coworkers over in holding have to endure him. Then she had second thoughts, which she kept to herself, that if someone over in holding had blabbed about the exchange with the Lieutenant those many weeks ago, then a twenty-four-hour visit from Richard Castle would have been an adequate payback for their offense. While Kate was down the hall checking on some other items, several wads of bet money changed hands near the holding area.

Castle followed orders. He arrived home at his loft apartment about an hour later. When he entered, Martha and Alexis were absorbed in a little web-toon 'gif' that they had just downloaded.

"You've got to see this" they both effused when he entered.

He didn't share their enthusiasm. The short web-toon showed two emperor penguins walking on an ice floe toward a hole. When the second one caught up to the first, the first took out a hidden paddle and smacked the second one right in, with a brisk, 'serves you right' motion.

"Wow . . . it looks like you've had a bad day . . . like you're the one who just got smacked into an ice hole," said Martha in an understanding, motherly way.

"I did," her son replied.

All the former glee had drained from Alexis as well.

"What happened?" they both wanted to know.

"I stopped by the precinct today," he moaned.

"And . . .?" they pried.

"A friend of mine was murdered this morning . . . the woman who made those sculptures for me."

"Oh dad, that's horrible," exclaimed Alexis.

"So, how was Beckett?" Martha asked, trying to change the subject.

She had accidently pushed topic in the wrong direction. Her son's melancholy deepened but he would not elaborate further. It was obvious to the two women that things had not gone well. Martha figured that maybe the misery loves company approach might take his mind off things from that morning.

"Well Alexis is in crisis," she stated matter-of-factly.

It appeared that the boy Alexis had met at the summer program in Princeton had promised to keep in touch, even though he would be travelling to Europe for a couple of weeks, but he had broken his promise. Richard was internally relieved, but Alexis was outwardly crushed. Richard remembered several spells back at the Hamptons, which intervened among his writing efforts, where he had worried about his daughter's potential relationship. But around noon that day the boy had finally given her a call. Richard asked what happened.

"I didn't answer it," she stated flatly.

"Why not?"

"Because I was mad [at him] she continued, "Now he knows I know he called, because I got the message; but I don't want to call him right back because I don't want him to think I've been sitting around waiting for his call . . . How long do you think I should wait? . . . A day? . . . Maybe two days? . . . Maybe forever?"

"You're not even giving him a chance," complained her father, clearly exuding a man's point of view.

"Why are you siding with him?" whined Alexis.

Richard Castle knew perfectly well why he was taking sides. He was in the same penalty box and he felt it keenly.

Martha kept watching but said nothing.

"I don't know," Richard stated, "maybe he'll do something to make it up to you . . . to surprise you," he offered.

"Maybe he missed his chance . . . Maybe it's just too late," she concluded.

Richard was shocked to hear that part. He stared at her in silence.

"So, what do you think?" she asked again.

"I don't know . . . maybe you should get a new boyfriend and start over," he suggested with something between a statement and a question.

"You're not very good at this are you dad?" Alexis returned the sentiment.

"Apparently not!"

"Aw, Richard" added Martha, "have I taught you nothing about relationships?"

"You're a shining example," he quipped.

But as the words were leaving his lips, he thought to himself, apparently, I didn't listen very well. What am I to do next?

Meanwhile, Alexis headed up the stairs toward her bedroom.

As the new morning dawned, Castle hoped it would turn out better than the previous one. Something Castle had found out, which the homicide team did not yet know, was the name of still another person that might somehow be linked to Maya's demise. He had initially wanted to use it as part of a peace offering to Kate, but when Kate wouldn't cool down, and since she hadn't asked, he decided at the last minute to keep it to himself. Besides, he reasoned, if he could somehow prove himself useful to the NYPD's 12th precinct once again, she might reconsider. Before his arrest the previous day, he had hit the *69 function on Maya's phone and found the last number she had dialed since it was not in her contacts list. Fortunately, the person didn't appear to be at home but had identified himself during his leave-a-message spiel. Castle remembered the name and the number. He went to the reverse directory application and found the address.

The three family members collected at the breakfast bar in the kitchen. Everyone's outlook was much improved. The new school year had started for Alexis and she was off to classes. Martha had planned a day out, which included visiting her steady boyfriend Chet. Richard announced that he had a few errands to run and would be back by early afternoon. Upon his arrival, he hoped to take care of the business end of his livelihood. He wasn't sure how many more book signing gigs he still had to endure. Within the next hour they had all gone their separate ways.

Castle took a taxi diagonally across town to the address. It was an apartment over a place of business. He climbed the stairs. At the top he found his morning harkening back to the previous one. Was it just him or did everybody's apartment he visited have the door forced open before he arrived? Castle started into one of his 'Universe talking' theories. The place was literally dead quiet. He crept in and found a young man was lying dead on the sofa. The surroundings sported a man-cave apartment décor complete with a fifty-five-gallon aquarium, which had been set up as a habitat for a rather large boa constrictor. Its occupant was peering through the glass for any signs of movement in the room. What would have been the dining area echoed the shop area of the business downstairs, containing several vending machines in various stages of disassembly propped against the walls. The kitchen was typical. There were some discarded take-out food boxes on the counter and unwashed dishes in the sink. While he was taking this in he heard three sets of footsteps on the stairs outside the apartment. He stood still, no sense running now he thought; he'd probably just wind up being shot by someone in the NYPD homicide division.

Kate and her team fanned out into the apartment as they did the day before. This time Castle did not have a gun, nor did he have a good reason for being there. When Kate saw him, she was nearly furious.

"What are you doing trespassing at a crime scene?" she demanded.

What had really infuriated Kate was the little detail that he had somehow figured out the next step in the case before the actual homicide team did. Castle himself had unknowingly caused the mess when he used Maya's phone; he accidently pressed the wrong key and the phone switched off, so when the homicide team tried to turn it back on, it came up locked. The NYPD had to do it the hard way, which took all of night shift and part of the morning to get the needed results. She elaborated on all the steps that had been required and asked him if he had illegally done the same. He hesitated to answer, knowing that the simplicity of his reply would only infuriate her all the more. She grew impatient, and reached out, grabbed his ear and gave it a sharp tweak.

"Ow! . . . OK I used *69 on her phone." he confessed.

"You what?" she demanded again.

I used the automatic dial back feature and got this guy's name was his explanation. Meanwhile Esposito and Ryan had made an examination of the crime scene. Esposito declared that the guy must have been dead for quite a while; the body was cold.

"See, I told you I didn't kill anyone," remarked Castle.

Somehow Castle knew that he was not going to get carted away in handcuffs again. When Kate grabbed him, she had started out as rough as possible. But with contact between them even for a few seconds, Kate had suddenly softened her grip; and her demeanor. Maybe there was still hope. Castle began to hatch another plan. Kate looked at him.

"You're not going to go away no matter what I do, are you," she remarked.

"I respect the Universe," he responded. "That's why we keep crossing paths . . . it's the Universe talking . . . you don't want to let the Universe down do you?"

Kate hesitated. Apparently, the Universe liked to send mixed messages.

She relented. "Okay, you can stay on for just this one case, do you hear me? . . . And you're going to do exactly what I tell you to do," she countered in an exasperated tone.

Castle had replied that she wasn't going to regret it. She said out loud that she already did regret it, but that was more for the benefit of Ryan and Esposito. Besides, she figured, the homicide department had gone from zero to full out in two days. Bodies were piling up and no resolutions were in sight, so may as well take advantage of the unpaid help. She would find a way to dump Castle afterwards. She turned her attention back to the crime scene routine by calling in for yet another visit from the CSU. After most of that was completed, everyone called it a day.

There were probably thousands of people in NYC who wanted to get a good night's sleep starting that evening but could not. Among those thousands, there were probably some who couldn't sleep because of worries and problems with their personal relationships; however, there were three in particular whose lights added to the electric company's demand that evening. Somewhere between two and three in the morning Richard Castle crossed paths with his daughter in the kitchen. Alexis was still stressing out about her not-yet-placed phone call with her boyfriend. Rick was secretly debating about placing the biggest bet in his life. Meanwhile, Kate Beckett could not seem to unwind; for some reason her hot bath and a glass of wine had not achieved the desired effect.

Castle returned to his bedroom, lay down, and continued staring at the darkened ceiling. He began to spin stories and theories about the case. He didn't know a thing about Miss Whitman. He had seen the situation at the man's apartment. And he needed an excuse to go back to Maya Santori's place. A guy who services vending machines; a sculptor; and a high school chemistry teacher . . . now here was a puzzle that he wanted to solve. The real story had to be better than anything he could ever make up. His mind flashed back to those poker games over the years. He could usually read people; and he was not going to let someone else, like an alternate universe version of one of his writer friends, walk away with the jackpot.


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: I hope you enjoy the less choppy, plot-line tweaked, and somewhat improved version. We continue with the second half Season 3, episode 1: "A Deadly Affair" and stick closely with canon, because a certain bet gets made that is essential to the plot._

 _Disclaimer: I do not own Castle – all credit goes to Andrew Marlow and the writing team for ABC's Castle; my thanks to them for providing a foundation for this little exercise._

10

Kate made an especially early appearance at the precinct the next morning. She found a voice message from Lanie regarding the examination results of the two murdered females indicating that she wanted to see Kate at the morgue as soon as it was possible. Kate took the hour or so of quiet to begin the detailed outline of the police reports. She checked back with Lanie right around the normal starting time for the day shift, and to Kate's relief, she answered the morgue's extension. Kate wanted whatever edge she could muster before Castle showed up later – that was if he decided to show up. Kate was seventy percent sure he would even after the crossed paths and cross faces. She made her way over to the adjoining complex and down to the morgue.

"Morning girl . . . I hear you made an interesting arrest yesterday . . . you want to talk about it?" gushed the medical examiner.

Kate put on a straight, unconcerned face and replied "Nope," with a nice sharp accent on the 'p' to the point of making it pop.

Lanie gave her a puzzled, 'are you really sure about that?' look, but then got down to business. The dead women had received GSW's on opposite sides of their bodies, but the patterns for the entry and exit points were almost identical; and in keeping with the characteristics for 0.45 caliber ammunition. Lanie then called Kate's attention to the tattoos each woman had. Kate didn't see the relevance; she figured everyone got tattoos these days, so what made these so special? Lanie pointed out that the patterns and the inking; especially the shades of the inks were very similar; and could have been the same artist she had theorized. Kate took note of these seemingly minor details but Lanie had one more thing. She picked up an ultraviolet light and shined it on Miss Whitman's lifeless hand. The lamp revealed '#227'so Kate memorized it as well hoping that it could have been an entry code or a locker number or something relevant to the case. At any rate, Lanie said that it was probably written more than a week before, possibly two. Lanie directed attention back to the late Maya Santori.

"I found this taxi receipt on her. Look here, the time stamp on it is only an hour or so before she I think she was murdered. It also shows the pick-up address."

That was all the official business she had for Kate. She pried Kate once more about the episode over at the precinct.

"You're sure you don't want to talk about it?" she repeated.

"Positive," replied Kate as she made her exit.

She could hear Lanie still going on about it. "You keep holding stuff like that in . . . you're going to get an ulcer or something . . .," went the admonishment as the door swung shut behind her.

She did not reconsider. Kate knew there were a couple more victims in cold storage so that would keep Lanie busy for the rest of the day. Their diverse paths would give Kate some time to figure out how and when she was going to break the recent details of her love life to her best girlfriend.

Meanwhile Ryan had been pursuing the phone and financial records of both women. A posting on the digital crime folder indicated that such records were available for use. The phone records had finally yielded a common factor. Both women had been contacted by a Todd McCutcheon within hours of their deaths. In turn, his police record showed activity for robbery and assault charges. The team wondered if he had graduated to murder as well. The victim in the apartment could very well be Todd, but they had been unable to recover any ID's. For all they knew the vic could have been a roommate who got was mistakenly caught up in Todd's affairs. They requested an APB for McCutcheon's whereabouts. They had to cancel it in short order when Lanie, who had started on the next body in line at the morgue, informed Kate that Todd McCutcheon's whereabouts were confirmed to be right there on her examining table and it became even more interesting from there.

Castle left his loft apartment and made his way over to Tribeca to revisit Maya's place since he been cut short with the really inconvenient arrest procedure. The scope of the scene was large; he figured CSU would still be there. On the chance that Beckett was also still there, he stopped off to get a peace offering of her favorite coffee and a pastry, as well as one for himself. As he expected the apartment was still occupied by the CSU members, but no Kate Beckett. He bribed the officer in charge of the scene with the coffee and pastries and gained access. Once inside he pulled on some latex gloves and began his exploration. Maya had worked in several media with a collection of bronze, pot-metal, clay, and welded steel sculptures of various sizes in evidence but apparently, she favored the cast bronze. It appeared that all of the cast pieces had been smashed open for some reason leading him to the conclusion that somebody had been looking for something inside. The smaller steel pieces had been toppled. He knelt down beside one of them and noted a smudge of someone's blood beside it. He gazed further toward it; there was some blood on one of the sharper edges. Someone had been injured in their search. He assumed it wasn't Maya; no artist would just start wrecking her work unless she had suddenly gone insane or had been held at gunpoint. He called over to the CSU's forensics expert and pointed out the find; meanwhile, he gazed over at one of the work tables that had only been partially disturbed and saw something that didn't seem to fit Maya's sculpting theme. At that moment he didn't entertain it any further; after all, he had plenty of strange things in his office too. Having completed his personal sweep of the crime scene he made his way over to the 12th precinct; stopping only to buy another peace offering.

He made his way to the 4th floor, liking his entry as a guest much better than as a suspect for a crime. As he turned down the aisle he caught sight of Beckett at her desk, with her head down, concentrating on some document in hard copy. He walked up silently and with one fluid motion set the peace offering down in its usual place. Kate kept her face toward the document. She began to smile, but quickly suppressed it as she raised her eyes toward him. She still didn't want him to know anything about her feelings, at least not just yet. She decided to brief him on the investigations thus far since there was no sense in stonewalling him because he would just interfere with the case and drive everybody crazy until he uncovered things his way. After she had explained the preliminary details, Castle launched into a set of his wild theories surrounding the demise of the two young women. Kate informed him further that Todd McCutcheon was the one in the apartment with the snake and the vending machines. Todd's girlfriend had been contacted and was on the way over to the precinct to make a statement.

"I'll bet they were CIA agents probably targeted for termination," Castle offered one of his theories.

"You know Castle; I had forgotten how useful your contributions to crime solving could be," she retorted sarcastically.

Castle mentioned that the laws of probability would someday prove him right.

"Like I'm going to take that bet."

Castle leaned forward and got close to Kate. He lowered his voice to a whisper.

"OK, here's a bet for you," he continued quietly, "I bet I can link these three murders to one motive before you can."

She looked at him incredulously and leaned forward closing the gap between them.

"OK, you're on, but if you lose, you have to get out of my life and never interfere with any of my cases ever again," came her serious reply.

"And if I win," countered Castle, "you have to take me back as your partner!"

Castle had agonized over this moment almost the whole night. He knew from his gambling experience that going all-in with confidence sometimes left one on the outside merely looking in. His literary comrades had proven that to him more than once. Nevertheless, based on what he knew at that point, he felt he was still in the game. His wild CIA theory didn't have anything in common with what he had deduced on the way over to the precinct. His mind snapped back to the present situation; the sparing contest of wits was back in full swing, and with refreshing vigor. It felt so good.

"What happens if the rest of the team figures it out before us?" he added in whisper.

Their little exchange had not gone unnoticed. Esposito and Ryan had returned to their desks and were listening intently for any hint of what might be going on. The mystery of the whisperings between Kate and Castle held the two eavesdroppers almost spellbound. The whisperers sneaked a glance in their direction. The sight was surprising. It looked like Ryan and Esposito had suddenly left for the breakroom and were replaced by Lewis Carroll's Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum stand-ins. Kate and Castle turned to face one another a second time.

"Nah," they whispered in unison.

The little private episode was just too much. The Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum expressions vanished. The two rose nearly in unison and made their way over to Beckett's desk.

"What was all that about?" Esposito pried while Ryan nodded in agreement.

"Oh nothing . . .," replied Kate with a reserved look, "Castle was just apologizing for not calling over the summer."

Castle sat there astounded at Kate's reply but said nothing. The supposed apology was not readily accepted by Espo and Ryan. They continued to glare at him in pretty much the same manner as the day he was arrested; making it clear that even if Beckett had forgiven him, they were not ready for it. The little meeting was interrupted by near simultaneous pings from the desk computers that were logged on to the digital case folder. A new entry from CSU forensics team reported some blood smears that were found in Maya's apartment matched Todd McCutcheon's blood. There was also some of Todd's blood on the side and bottom of Maya's shoes. That little tidbit jogged Ryan's memory. He went to his desk and looked up the results linked to the taxi cab receipts found on Maya. The report showed the driver picked up his fare outside Todd's apartment the morning of the murders. The ride terminated in the middle of a block somewhere in the Bowery district, and apparently, the taxi driver had been told to wait because there were wenty additional minutes on the meter; then the taxi was back on the road and terminated the ride in the Tribeca district outside Maya's apartment building. Castle noted the time stamp and remarked it was just after that when Maya had called him. He recalled a mental image of the phone screen; and right after the call to him, she had also called Todd. He was about to mention that when they were interrupted by Captain Montgomery.

"Todd McCutcheon's girlfriend is here," he reported to the team.

Everyone split up with Kate and Castle making their way over to the public part of the precinct, which contained a room with a door that could serve as a quasi-private area for questioning persons of interest. It was much less intimidating than the box, which was usually reserved for confirmed suspects. Captain Montgomery returned to his office. Esposito took off in the direction of Ryan's desk.

"Ryan!"

He got Ryan's attention before he could head out to chase down another lead. The two of them tried to gauge the outcome over the next day or so. Esposito had asked Ryan what he thought of Kate's interactions with Castle since the episode with the vending machines the other day; and especially about that whispering session just a few minutes ago. Ryan wasn't sure what to make of it. Esposito postulated that Castle would in all likelihood find the link to the murders first; and that he would somehow worm his way back into the precinct's good graces – Kate included. Ryan remained somewhat skeptical.

"You want to make a bet on that?" Espo jeered.

"Okay, you're on . . . and what are the stakes?" countered Ryan.

"You get to buy two or three rounds for everybody at the case closure meeting."

Beckett and Castle interviewed Todd's girlfriend who said that she'd never seen Maya or Chloe before. She also explained that while her boyfriend did have a sketchy past, he had turned his life around with the new vending machine business. She also mentioned that he had hurt his back a couple months ago, which put him out of work, so he borrowed money from a guy in the neighborhood to pay debts to the bank and keep his business. The guy he borrowed the money from was no good. A couple weeks prior to Todd's death the man paid him a visit and threatened him with a gun; saying he'd kill him if he didn't make his payments. It turned out that the man was only seen in the neighborhood frequently for his loan sharking activities. He was identified as Dean Carbino, from somewhere in Brooklyn. They thanked the woman for her statement and promptly put out an APB on Carbino, which didn't take long to get results. About an hour and a half later one of the uniforms had him in custody and was heading toward the precinct.

Their round in the box with Dean Carbino did corroborate the girlfriend's story about a shoddy loan arrangement for Todd's business but the rest turned out to be another dead end. Carbino said that a loan of $15 g's certainly wasn't enough to kill someone over; furthermore, it was just an initial threat to encourage prompt payments. But that wasn't all. Carbino concluded his testimony with the information that Todd had repaid him in full plus interest so there was no reason to kill him.

"Do you expect me to believe that?" Kate inquired with her serious look.

"No sweetheart . . . I don't . . . but that doesn't change the facts," the suspect replied with his prominent Brooklyn accent.

"So where were you the morning of September 21st?"

"I was in Jersey, shopping with the missus."

They checked his story. He alibied out, but Ryan wondered if maybe he didn't order the hit. A possibility, Kate added. But it didn't explain why both the women, but not the girlfriend, would also be included. Castle nodded in agreement. He jumped ahead, knowing the next plan of attack, and suggested they look at Todd's financial history. Here goes smart-ass Castle again they thought. Espo and Ryan both turned in unison and glared at him coldly and replied that Todd's financial reports were on their way. Kate looked on in slight amusement as Castle continued wondering aloud how a vending machine sales and service tech could suddenly afford to pay off a $15,000 debt, so it would be worth looking for any unusual financial activity. Everyone got up nearly in unison to check for the reports.

As soon as the four of them could get their hands on the financial reports, they adjourned to one of the multi-purpose rooms and began going over them. It was now late afternoon, but the day was far from over. Looking for anomalies in a stranger's financial statements was tedious work. One thing became clear though; all three of the victims had cash flow problems; and their collective situations were chronic; things would balance for a month or two – just barely, then the overdrafts would reappear. But starting two or three weeks prior to the murders, each victim had somehow received $9,500 in their bank account. The sums had just appeared like the proverbial manna from heaven. Along with this some credit card charges also appeared, made by a company simply referred to as: KCBC, followed by a transaction number. They were small, less than twenty dollars, but all in the same amount, which also raised a red flag. Kate told Ryan to get on it. Castle sat back and began grinning smugly like a poker player who had just raked in a pile of chips. He felt his theory just might have yielded the connection. Kate looked at him.

"Don't start celebrating just yet," she told him, "we don't have a positive connection right now."

Castle just kept on grinning. "I missed you too," he replied as he kept his gaze on her.

He hoped the repeated phrase would have more impact than it did on the day of his arrest. It did. Kate just rolled her eyes and began to smile as she turned away from him. Someone suggested they have pizza delivered. Castle said he was buying. While waiting on the pizza delivery, Ryan put in some calls to the banks' fraud departments regarding the deposits while Esposito continued to hunt for KCBC. It was after dark when the results appeared. The bank deposits were made in cash so there was no further tracing of it, since they were under the trigger amount for additional information required by the IRS, the cash was a dead end – but not completely. Three people getting cash under the radar screen made it look to Kate that something illegal might have been going on. It didn't look like Esposito was fairing any better on his first pass. KCBC appeared to be a credit card processing company somewhere. There was not a business address on file but not to be so easily thwarted, Esposito found his way over to the IT fraud investigator's desk. It took some digital wrangling, but an IP address tag revealed a physical location over in the Bowery somewhere. The tech could ping the card reader but there was no useful information as to where it was physically located or the business concern that employed it. The IP on the server was better than nothing. Esposito made his triumphant return to the group, which had gathered at the white board, with a street address in his hand. He was ready for some adventure. The part of town indicated was known to house some really off-beat places; including some private clubs where rather kinky stuff could be going down. Kate mentioned that they needed to go check it out. Esposito exclaimed that he was on top of it; and carefully guarded the paper from Castle's reach. After the pizza dinner, Kate was also ready for some adventure. She was feeling the effects of a small dose of a drug that had been absent for some fifteen weeks prior and wanted more. To Esposito's dismay, she looked at Castle and declared a road trip. Castle, with some gesture between glee and sneer, snatched the paper he had been guarding. They left Ryan and Esposito looking at each other and wondering what had just happened.

The address proved to be some nondescript building in the middle of the block. All of the front entrances looked nonfunctional.

"This place doesn't look like any reputable credit card company to me," Kate voiced her thought out loud.

They turned into a dark alley to see if the side entrances, if there were any, would prove to be different.

"No, it looks like the kind of place where you get mugged in a dark alley," remarked Castle with a mixture of sincerity and fear in his voice.

They found a side door with a dim entry light hung above it. There was no door knob; only a box with a numerical keypad mounted to the right of the doorway. There appeared to be no intercom. Kate recalled the #227 code on Chloe's hand so she gave it a try. Castle, somewhat alarmed, asked what she thought she was doing. Before Kate could answer, the door latch clicked, and the door sprang open accompanied by sound of screechy hinges. They surmised that the entrants were to close it behind themselves. They continued down a dimly lighted passageway while the music and voices got louder as they went. When they reached the venue, they stopped to take it all in and there was plenty to take in all at once. It was some kind of private burlesque club with fire eaters, midgets performing juggling acts, women walking around with large snakes draped over their shoulders, and scantily clad female fan-dancers; and in the middle of it all, a well-stocked bar. Kate watched Castle switch into his kid in a candy store mode. His eyes darn near bugged out.

"Wow! . . . This is like the circus . . . but with alcohol," he exclaimed. "How come I've never heard of this place before?"

Kate gave him a look like he was such a novice. "This is nothing in comparison to some of the clubs I've been to," she teased.

When Esposito hears about this he's going to be really mad that we cut him out, Kate thought to herself. Castle was drawn to the fan dancer. Kate turned her attention to the bartender.

"What will you have?"

She flashed her badge along with a $20 bill. "How about some information," she replied.

She showed him the pictures of the three victims and asked if anybody there had either seen them or knew them. The bartender definitely knew them. They were all part of the owner's, dance troupe, he informed her as he pointed to the scantily clad woman dancing before Castle and many of the patrons. When the dance number ended, Beckett began an interview with Kitty Canary who informed them that Todd had a snake act, Chloe was a dancer, and Maya was just a patron who came from time to time for inspiration. Castle was inspired by Kitty's fluorescent purple bikini. Kitty Canary – that _had_ to be only a stage name thought Castle. Kitty's husband Earl found his way over to them. Kitty went on to explain that she didn't know the three victims very well; certainly not beyond just being co-workers, except that Maya and Chloe did come to her for tattoos. It was her daytime job. Earl and Kitty expressed their sadness for the loss of the three club members. Kitty knew perfectly well that NYPD was there for more than chit-chat, so she threw out the episode of how Chloe's boyfriend Evan came around the club one night and had a loud argument with his girlfriend about what she was doing at the club. Kitty said she suspected that Evan thought Chloe was cheating on him. Kate also wanted to know if they had a mailing list with all of their 'regulars'. Earl said he would get it for them. With this thread connected to a new suspect and a plausible motive, Kate thanked them for their time. While she was scanning the room to find Castle, a couple of revelations hit her. Just perhaps the mysterious KCBC stood for 'Kitty Canary's Burlesque Circus' she thought to herself; and Todd McCutcheon's boa constrictor was kept on hand for who knows what kind of performance at this place. She finally located Castle.

"Well Castle, are you staying or are you going?" Kate teased him again.

"I'm . . . Um . . . I'm," babbled Castle.

Kate grabbed his arm; announced that he was going with her; and ushered him back down the passageway and out the door. Kate dropped him off near his apartment, then continued back downtown to turn in the patrol car. On the way she called the dispatcher and set up to have Evan Murphy tagged as a suspect in the case. She also requested a search warrant for his apartment. Here they were with seven people mixed up in something; and three of them were dead because of it. Things were becoming interesting.

About mid-morning on the following day, a nervous Evan Murphy found himself in the box with Kate and Castle. With the new information gleaned from the meeting at the club she began questioning him as to his motive for doing away with this girlfriend Chloe. Yes, he admitted he followed her to the club one night; and yes, they had argued, but that was only because she had been acting very secretive of late. Kate asked him why he hadn't mentioned this before. Evan apparently was aware of police procedure; either from watching TV or some other source. The source must not have been from personal experience because he didn't have any priors. He said he withheld the account of that little episode because he was afraid they would only have focused on him as a suspect and looked no further. Kate wanted to know about the money. Evan looked completely confused and countered with the question of what money? While Evan was visiting the police, they were visiting his apartment. A uniform interrupted the questioning in the box and asked Kate to step outside for a minute. A 0.45 caliber gun had been found in Evan's apartment; it could be the murder weapon. They had quickly dusted it for finger prints but found that it had been wiped clean. Kate returned to the box with renewed vigor. She accused him of being into something together with the rest of them – she wanted to know what it was. She showed him the gun they had just found in his apartment. He became almost hysterical and swore that he had never seen it before, didn't even own one, and that he had only fought with Chloe over his suspicions that she was having an affair with someone at the club. Beckett continued to press him hard for answers that he simply did not have. He finally asked for a lawyer. Not another word from him without a lawyer present. They transferred him to holding until the lawyer could show up.

Esposito was subconsciously trying to win his bet with Ryan. Not that he had completely forgiven Castle, it was just that he had seen the same thing Lieutenant Whitefield had seen and it was the simple fact that Kate Beckett had not been the same woman over the last few of months. If Castle's presence could somehow change that, he was all for it. Esposito took the lion's share of the mailing list provided by the burlesque club. When he found out where they got it the night before he lamented loudly that they should have called for back-up. Going to a place like that, he reasoned, one could always use more back-up. Kate had been particularly interested in the list of regulars that had prior police activity. Fortunately, most of the records had been digitized or had been entered directly into the new data base; hence those with priors had pictures readily available. Castle looked over Kate's shoulder as she reviewed the files. One stood out. A young man named Xander Doyle had an address in the Bowery very near the place where the taxi had dropped of Maya on the morning of her murder. Now there was an eighth person on the list. How much of NYC was wrapped up in it? Castle was generally very good at holding things in memory. It paid off.

"Hey, I've seen that guy's face before," he exclaimed to no one in particular.

He snatched a hard copy of the photo and trudged over to the white board with it. The board was covered thickly enough now to be known as the murder board. He held it beside a photo taken of one of Maya's cast sculptures. At least the face was complete, and they were a match.

The APB on Xander Doyle paid off rather quickly. Within a couple of hours, they had him in the box. Captain Montgomery began to wonder if the precinct should install a revolving door on the interrogation room as he saw them pass his office with yet another suspect. Maya certainly had been busy soliciting help the morning before she was killed. Xander said he had met her at the club some months back. She liked the way he looked, and he admitted that they could probably guess the rest. She must have liked him enough to remember him in bronze. The reason she had come to him was to get a gun for self-protection. He said he wasn't surprised. He had met her on the street, just in passing, a few weeks before. She had to be into something because she smelled of all kinds of chemicals like bleach and acetone and other mean stuff.

"I've got another friend who often smells like that – he makes meth." Xander concluded.

That may have been the case, but Kate informed Xander Doyle that he would remain in holding until things became clearer. Kate got on the intercom. Moments later a uniform on duty over at holding came to escort him there.

Castle's murder theory machine switched into high gear. That had to be the connection he had effused.

"Think of it" he exclaimed as they made their way toward Beckett's desk. "The three of them are sitting around the burlesque bar one night after hours sharing tales of woe regarding their individual money troubles. The chemistry teacher jokes that 'we could always cook meth'; but the other two aren't laughing. 'Yeah we could' replies another; and that's how it starts," Castle went on with his customary dramatic narrative. "I'm going with the drugs," he concluded.

Kate was lost in thought. It was certainly plausible, but Doyle, Murphy, and Todd's girlfriend were puzzle pieces still not fitting. Castle thought they would fall into place; and was thinking out loud about the taxi ride Maya had taken; was it to the club or Doyle's place or both? Beckett called the medical examiner's office and the chemical residues, and when they arrived at the morgue, Lanie had already pulled the section of the report dealing the results of analysis for body surfaces and clothing.

"It wasn't drugs," she stated plainly.

Castle winched. He had wanted to keep that story going, but Lanie had squashed it flat with one stroke. She went on to say that their boy Xander was right about the chemicals – she found trace amounts of bleach, acetone, sodium chloride and ammonia on each victim but therein lay the problem; no trace of the end product, the methamphetamines, could be found.

As they made their way back to the 4th floor of the precinct Castle knew the next stop would be the murder board. But now Castle found himself at the betting tables once again. Only this time it wasn't poker, it had become blackjack instead. He had to beat the house and Kate was the one who would be pulling the fresh cards from the deck. They stood at the murder board together, Esposito was at his desk, Ryan was elsewhere. The game was on and Castle somehow had to do this without going bust. Kate focused first on the weapon found in Evan's apartment. Why did he have it? The freshly posted ballistics report confirmed it was the murder weapon used on all three victims. They traded theories of self-protection, not finished with his plot yet, and that he was going to ditch it but hadn't gotten around to it. Kate found them all improbable. Esposito overheard them at the board and called over to inform them that since they were talking about Evan, the report on his financials showed no unusual activity and certainly nothing of the $9,500 deposits the others had received. Well maybe that was it. Maybe Evan was mad that he didn't get a cut of whatever the victims were into. Kate remained frustrated that they still didn't know what the victims were into except that had made a lot of money. Castle drew in a sharp breath. His mind began racing, but he kept it all to himself. He both blessed and cursed the English language. On one hand it was full of words with precise meanings; on the other, one could be either accidently or arbitrarily vague. That was it! They made a lot of money; as in manufactured it rather than earned it. Kate could see the proverbial wheels turning in Castle's head and wondered what crazy stuff was coming next. To her surprise he bolted for the evidence room; and convinced the clerk to pull the box holding effects from Chloe's apartment. He rushed back to the murder board with the box in hand. He had one more card to draw – would he bust? He pulled several $20 bills from Chloe's wallet and glanced at them quickly. Aha! He had done it – drawn a '21' at the blackjack table. He handed the bills to Kate.

"So?" she asked.

"Take a look at the serial numbers on those bills," he said smugly.

She looked. They weren't serial at all – they were exactly the same.

"So, they were into counterfeiting," Kate said as she looked at him in his moment of glory.

"Hey, a chemistry teacher, a sculptor, and a vending machine tech walk into a burlesque bar and order a drink . . . the bartender asks if their ID's are fake . . .," Castle began.

". . . no, but the money is they whisper," she said completing the joke.

He had found the link. But they still had to find the murderer. The vending machine tech was needed to supply the $1 bills; the chemistry teacher's expertise was required for bleaching all the ink from the dollar bills. It sounded like a lot of work, but it was still much easier than trying to produce an authentic looking and textured paper. So what better way than to use authentic paper and print $20's and $50's? The sculptor who liked to work in metal could supply the plates. Now Castle recalled why that oval portrait of Andrew Jackson was on Maya's work bench. Only one thing was missing. Who supplied the ink? The Eureka moment dawned on them simultaneously as they stared at the murder board. They turned to face each other.

"I think I know who the killer is!" they burst out in unison.

Javier Esposito sat back in his chair and grinned. The old Kate Beckett has returned he said to himself. The homicide team assembled from various corners of the precinct, commandeered a couple of patrol cars and made a hurried trip over to the burlesque club. They were assisted by two uniformed officers who had been asked to come equipped to enter the venue by force on the possible chance that the keypad entry had been disabled or changed. Kitty and Earl were the ring leaders; the others just supplied the means to get things done, and for their help they received a cut of the phony bills. The whole deal went sideways when Todd tried to pay off his shoddy loan boss Dean Carbino with the funny money. Carbino figured it out in short order and threatened to rat them out if he didn't get cut in. The three victims were for it, but Earl and Kitty were not, so the rest was history. Earl planted the 0.45 caliber murder weapon in Evan's apartment to frame him. Evan hadn't found the weapon yet and therefore hadn't dirtied it up with his own finger prints. Earl and Kitty knew it was time to pack up and get out of town before the NYPD found out what happened. After the little interview, they knew it would be only a matter of time but heir time ran out as the NYPD caught them hurriedly packing up the valuable items from the club, including a couple of large travel bags full of phony bills and the precious master plates that made them. Kitty tried to distract the arresting officers by asking what finally gave her away. Castle replied that the only missing piece was the ink; and who better to supply it than a tattoo artist. With the slight distraction caused by the verbal exchange, Earl tried to make a break for it. The two crooks tried to split up and got lost among the high racks of inventory shelving in that section of the building. With six cops and two crooks the end game was a ride to the lock up.

Back at the precinct the fresh perpetrators were processed in while the two innocent persons were processed out. Kate ran background checks on Kitty and Earl. The poor victims never really knew what kind of nasty people they had been dealing with. Kitty had a list of priors including robbery, assault, and trying to use a car as a deadly weapon to run down her previous boyfriend. She had been a terror in Seattle, Washington; she left there in secret after serving some prison time; donned a new alias and set up shop in NYC. The burlesque venue was just a front and a diversion. While Ryan and Espo, and the uniforms were at the holding area desk, Kate had read the list of priors at her desk with Castle sitting in the chair that had remained empty all summer. They rose almost in unison. She stopped and looked at him.

"Well, I guess you won the bet fair and square," she said with a very business-like tone and a straight face.

Castle looked into her eyes ever so briefly before he spoke. He had only one more hand to play. It was risky, but he was feeling lucky.

"Well, if you still feel that I'm interfering too much, and you don't want me around . . . I'll respect that," he offered.

"No, like I said, you won fair and square," she replied with a smirk.

Castle knew he had won that round too.

"Tomorrow then?"

"Tomorrow," Kate replied, with her eyes twinkling and a slight grin in place.

It had been quite a day.


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: I hope you enjoy the less choppy, plot-line tweaked, and somewhat improved version. We stay in the Castle Universe, but with more of that 'dark matter', not in the canon, as to how Kate is living with the sudden reappearance of her other boyfriend._

 _Disclaimer: I do not own Castle – all credit goes to Andrew Marlow and the writing team for ABC's Castle; my thanks to them for providing a foundation for this little exercise._

11

Kate had entered the break room at the precinct to get a coffee. What she got was a mess. Someone had foolishly left an open can of rubber cement on one of the counters. Kate, not looking too closely, had reached for it so as to remove the smelly stuff, but had encountered a good-sized glob of it dripping down the back side of the can. She hadn't either seen or smelled the stuff since sixth grade. She thought it might have been banned from the planet as a hazardous substance and she also recalled that it didn't come off easily.

"Wow, it looks like Castle isn't the only thing you have on your hands," remarked Ryan as he entered.

"Funny," retorted Kate, "you could become a real comedian someday."

"Well at least he isn't here to tease you about it," Ryan added, "and where is he anyway? . . . I thought you both agreed on tomorrow, which is now, uh, today."

"He's out on another book signing tour; a two-week road trip; that's why he hadn't called us in the first place . . . he wanted to get that out of the way before he came back to start bothering us again," she explained.

As they walked out of the break room together, Kate was distracted by the mess on her hands. She returned to her desk and began to hunt for a forgotten bottle of nail polish remover in the desk drawers but there was none to be found. She wondered if any of the other female personnel might have some handy. It was doubtful. Most in the precinct had jobs more demanding than that of an executive secretary, so they usually couldn't find time to sit at their desks attending to their nails. She'd just have to sneak out and attend to it at lunch time. She looked over at the empty chair, still with mixed feelings. It took her mind off her hands at least. The sight did not evoke the same gloomy outlook as before. He was back, if she wanted him. She was in control for the moment. Nevertheless, her mind once again drifted back to her exchanges with him in the interrogation box. The meetings had felt like she had been on some kind of virtual Coney Island roller coaster ride from an emotional standpoint. She recalled round one; his cold read of her possible life story. He had spun it not knowing her at all; not knowing what had really happened to her mother. She had begun to tear up slightly. He had seen it and stopped his narrative in a strategic way. The observers in the adjacent room had seen it too and most knew the reasons why. But then there had been round two. She remembered his answer to her question as to who his girlfriend was now. His answer: 'you know who it is' . . . the purposeful vagueness; yet the smirk on his face with the twinkle in his eyes. Was he jibing her about Gina, because she was being so mean to him; or did he mean to hint that he still had feelings for her? If she hadn't been so worked up about things she might have gleaned more from the moment. She absent mindedly reached for the coffee cup at its usual place – she grabbed thin air. Dammit! The coffee, that's what she had gone to the break room for in the first place.

She was about to get up again when a ping sounded on her computer. It was a notifier regarding one of the archived electronic case files; obviously, new activity. She called over toward Ryan and Esposito's desks.

"Hey guys, did you see this? . . . It says here that the George Herbert Reeves case has a new hit," she reported.

Both Ryan and Esposito rolled their chairs down toward her desk.

"Look here, that Plate number 5K7-6655 – that car that was supposed to have been repossessed has been found," she added, "in North Bergen, New Jersey."

The DMV had posted a copy of the registration. The curious thing was that nothing regarding a lien holder or any information like it appeared. Maybe we just never recorded it she thought. She asked Ryan to start running it down.

"Well, since there's an unsolved homicide connected with it, someone needs to go check it out," she stated in her usual way.

Esposito, knowing he was the next one in line, declared he was on it and made a call to the Bergen Police Department.

"They say there's not much to see; it's been completely stripped and set up on blocks," he reported.

A trip to New Jersey was not his idea of a scenic tour, but he headed out anyway. Kate took the opportunity to slip out and get her hands taken care of. Esposito got back fairly late in the afternoon.

"Well, the trip was worth it," he reported, "guess what I found bent up and stuffed under the back seat?" he teased.

They looked at him. He pulled some damaged, but still readable, registration plates from an evidence bag. They read: 9Z6-8898 – NY. Something was up. Kate changed the status of the case file from archive back to active and included notifiers linked to both Ryan and Esposito.

She had finished up the day on time for a change. It was nice to arrive back at her apartment before the sun had set, which was a challenge since the days were rapidly becoming shorter. At least they were still on daylight savings time. She didn't feel like having dinner yet so she took a detour and ducked into her favorite bookstore on the way home to pick up a copy of _Naked Heat_. She knew she could have had one just for the asking, but she decided to obtain her own copy. Since Castle was back, perhaps a reading of it would give her some insight as to how his summer went; or a least what he may have been thinking about in her absence. She ignored the opening items and started right into chapter one. Maybe Whitefield had been right. Maybe she'd seen too many murder cases; or maybe she just knew Richard Castle's writing a little too well by this time. But was life imitating art; that is if one could call the genre art. It opened almost like the beginnings of the KCBC case. She had only read about four pages when her mobile phone rang just before seven o'clock. It was Josh.

"Well good evening stranger, I've been wondering what's happened to you," she chirped.

"I'm doing just fine . . . thanks for asking . . . hey, how about a ride?" he answered with a question.

"Can't … you know I don't have my bike right here in Manhattan like you do," she replied somewhat disappointed.

"There's always room for two," he offered.

"Well, Okay, but you have to throw in dinner with that," she said with a hint of excitement.

"Okay! . . . See you around 7:30 then," he countered.

It was agreed; and it was a great spur of the moment idea, but she had forgotten the need of a helmet. A search around the apartment turned up a spare, which had been collecting dust on the floor of the coat closet. She decided to wait for him at street level. She liked to see him riding up to meet her. They went northbound from her place in search of an eatery mutually acceptable to their tastes. It wasn't anything fancy, but they were enjoying an evening together and that's what counted. He dropped her off just before eleven o'clock. She took off her helmet, shook her hair loose, and gave him a hug. She mouthed the words 'see you soon'. He nodded and headed off. As she found her way back upstairs she began thinking, if Lanie ever gets wind of this, I'm never going to hear the end of it. She got ready for bed. There would be no more of Richard Castle for the evening.

Josh had been eager to meet Kate that evening because he knew his schedule was going to be complicated for the next week or so. Kate spent the next few days in her normal routine without either Castle of Josh in her life. She was still in practice from her summer ritual and life moved along without incident, at least until Friday evening. Lanie needed company and invited Kate over to have dinner and just hang out together. It had been quite some time since the two had met outside of work.

"Oh wow! Dinner, wine, and flowers . . . you shouldn't have," Kate joked as she entered. "What did you do? Did you decide to open up a flower shop? Nice side job . . .," she continued with the charade.

Apparently Lanie had offered to pull together a number of flower arrangements for a friend. It wasn't Kate's cup of tea, but she knew there were some favors to be repaid so she gladly joined in the work.

"Oh listen to you! . . . you still need to tell me about your job the other day,", Lanie shot back with a strong emphasis on the 'your job' part.

"Wine first . . . stories to follow," Kate responded, deflecting the subject for just another couple of minutes. She took a long sip. "Well, needless to say, I was pissed about him not calling over the entire summer. It only made me feel like he and Gina had really made up and that was going to be it. Especially after what Espo told me the evening before we closed the Spy Ventures case," Kate concluded.

"And what was that," Lanie wanted to know, having focused her eyes directly on Kate at the mention of Espo's name. She wore a broad smile.

"I was kind'a expecting Castle to hang around and help me that evening, but he took off for his poker party; and I knew he wanted to check on Alexis before her trip . . . that kind of thing, but he wasn't himself," she went on.

"Well, Duh! Of course, he wasn't himself after watching you with Tom. Vera, over in the holding department, told me you were practically making out with Tom in the office the week before Memorial Day . . . you'd better be careful . . . you know Montgomery will have to have a word with you; and from what I hear, that means a reprimand."

"I wasn't making out! Anyway, that chapter is over; and that's what I had wanted to tell Castle before he took off with Gina . . . but it was Espo who helped me decide . . . I think . . . so, from Espo's point of view, he reminded me that it really didn't take that many months of hanging around the precinct to do research for his books . . . he had enough to write fifty of them by now . . . and about me hanging around with another guy; that wasn't going to improve his outlook. But I just don't know about him and his outlooks anymore. He made me so mad when he showed up at those crime scenes just out of the blue . . . no calls . . . no nothing, and then there he was, big as life. Of course, it didn't help there was a whole grandstand full of people crammed into the observation room while I was trying to talk to him."

"More like giving him a piece of your mind is what I heard," interjected Lanie.

"It's that darn smirk of his, and then that poker face . . . I can never really be sure when he's serious and when his just trying to pull my chain. So, when I asked him point blank about who his girlfriend really was, he simply told me I knew who it was," lamented Kate.

"But you didn't really study his face, did you," Lanie admonished, "Did you want to kill him at that moment?"

"I think I could have . . . yeah," Kate mused, her expression now somewhat distant.

"You know that means you're probably in love with him," Lanie added.

"I'm _WHAT?_ " Kate shot back, but she was beginning to flush. She could feel her ears and face getting hot.

"Feeling a bit warm, are we? . . . You know it's not the wine. Come on girl . . . do you think I'm blind or something? . . . I think it's you who's blind. I've seen at least two of your _Water Lilies_ moments . . . he's deep down in your soul . . . admit it to yourself. I only wished I could have been in that observation room," Lanie taunted.

"Listen, I don't think I'm that into him; especially with Gina still in the picture somewhere. Who knows when she might come swooping in again. I don't ever what to have another day like that one," Kate sniffed, while taking another long sip of wine.

"Oh, if only I had taken video of you when you saw that cardboard stand-up of Castle in the bookstore window. Don't even try to tell me you're not into him. But I understand your reaction, especially after that episode with Gina at the precinct. We were right there with you Kate . . . I know I sure was . . . but girl, you're going to get days like that . . . I know I have," Lanie explained.

"Really?" Kate asked incredulously.

"Yeah, really . . . but we're talking about you this evening," Lanie corrected.

"I'm going to take a raincheck on that you know," Kate countered. "Besides I might have other options."

"Oh yeah, this may be a kiss and tell evening yet," Lanie effused, also taking a sip of wine.

"Remember that guy I literally bumped into on the sidewalk in Chinatown the day we went out cruising?"

"Yeah, so it wasn't an accident," Lanie said with a smirk and her all-knowing look.

"Well yeah it was, but then it wasn't. There had actually been a plan behind it . . . just not right then and there . . . I think the Universe was talking to me," Kate reasoned.

"See? Even now you're spouting Castle-isms," Lanie declared.

"Well he's a far cry from Castle. He's a heart surgeon part time over at Central Hospital; we've been out on

a couple of dates so far," Kate confessed.

"Anything else you want to tell me?" Lanie pried.

"Nope, at least right now there isn't any headline news to tell . . . well his name is Josh; and he rides a motorcycle," Kate replied truthfully.

"Uh huh . . . Well, when do I get to meet him face to face rather than see him from behind?"

Lanie took her hand off the pry bar for the evening. Kate wasn't the only one struggling with the next direction in a relationship, but Lanie kept any further details to herself. She was sure Kate would let her know when it was time to be introduced to Josh. They stayed up rather late; almost to the point where Kate vacillated between just sleeping over or risking a trip back to her apartment. She figured that since someone would be coming over for those flowers in the morning it would be better to wake up in one's own bed. She returned home; now completely unburdened by what she wasn't going to tell Lanie. She lost track of where the rest of the weekend went but she caught up on some much needed rest.

The work week began slowly but later it began to pick up for the homicide department. She spent most of the day on Monday with general paperwork. But two murders were reported between Monday night and Tuesday morning. One of them was a homeless man.

"It wasn't 'Westside Wally' was it?" Kate called over to Ryan and Esposito when she saw the blotter report.

The homeless man applied it to himself, but the moniker stuck since he 'lived' near the west side of the precinct's boundary. The team was happy to know the victim had not been him. Ryan motioned her over to his desk to review more details since he already had it open on his computer. As she made her way over there, she absent mindedly set her tote bag and mobile phone on the Castle chair.

"Oh, here's some more news," exclaimed Ryan, "I checked those car titles at the DMV . . . the liens have been released according to their records," he continued.

"What? . . . Then who would repo a car that doesn't have a lien," Kate wondered out loud.

"That's what I said," added Ryan.

"So, you're telling me we have a murder while someone was playing grand theft auto," concluded Kate.

"Looks that way," he replied.

"Okay, I want to hear more; but I really need a coffee first" she finished and headed for the break room once again.

The three of them made themselves comfortable around Ryan's desk.

"So, who was the lien holder in the first place," Kate inquired while sipping her coffee, "I mean there's got to be a lender involved somewhere."

"I was about to get to that," replied Ryan, "something called 'Auto-Loan-sMart', which has its closest office in Delaware. And you're not going to believe who the loan officer was," he concluded as he brought up the screen showing the loan documents. They were signed by a Henry Eugene Reeves.

"I take it he's related to our vic," Kate surmised.

"Yep, they were brothers," added Espo.

"Well let's get a hold of this guy so he can answer some questions," Kate ordered.

"Can't," Espo and Ryan declared simultaneously.

"Why not?"

"According to his employer, he hasn't been seen or hear from for just over three months. He left work on a Friday afternoon like everything was normal and did not report in the next Monday. No word since. All of his emergency contact information seems to be out of date. They've just had someone filling in for him since his disappearance," Ryan explained.

"Yeah, well I doubt it's just a coincidence that he disappears right about the same time his brother is found dead in a tow truck . . . whatever happened to the traffic cam video file," Kate wanted to know.

"I wouldn't know . . . that was you and Espo, don't you remember," replied Ryan.

"Right . . . Okay, why don't you continue to follow that lead while Espo and I run down that traffic cam data," Kate replied.

As she stood up her cell phone pinged. She headed for Castle's chair to retrieve it.

"Well, speak of the Devil," she muttered.

It was a text message from him; 'Missing you – how's it going?' Everything seemed to be going just fine without him. She felt neutral for once as she stared at the chair. Suddenly she found herself wondering if he had run into someone else who reminded him of Nikki Heat. 'Fine' was all she wrote and sent the return text. One thing she didn't feel so neutral about was getting the robbery department involved, but she had to. Should she go down there personally to request help; or just call the head of the department? She had no idea of Tom Demming's whereabouts. She dialed the general extension. To her relief the dispatching officer said that Karl Voss would be available to assist in the theft and fraud investigations. She could meet with him tomorrow morning first thing for a briefing and transfer of files. Kate tried to recall if she knew anything about Karl Voss. The name was vaguely familiar. He had been with the department for a couple of years since graduating from the training academy. Then it occurred to her where she had seen the name. He had received an award for almost single-handedly rounding up a five-member ring of jewelry thieves; and not getting anyone killed in the process. He would be just the guy for this mystery. With that little hurdle cleared she called over to Ryan to see if someone down at the ME's office could shed some light on who had been taken to the morgue three months ago.

Now that Dr. Parish had received some names, she had re-opened the files that Dr. Perlmutter had started and was already a step ahead of those upstairs in homicide. As Ryan pushed through the doors to the morgue she told him:

"No, no one's come to claim or release the body."

"You mean he's been here all that time? . . . Boy, talk about your cold case," he said with a smirk.

"Stop it," she called back. "It turns out that each one listed the other as their emergency contacts, but the phone numbers and the addresses are no good. It's also interesting that these boys didn't believe in visiting a dentist; or at least one that kept records, but I did find a hospital record for Henry Eugene Reeves. He had a procedure done for a hernia about three years ago at Brandywine Medical Hospital," she informed him.

"Then, who is that," asked Ryan pointing to the body in the storage drawer.

"We've got hernia Henry . . . don't know where George is," she replied.

"Lanie have you been having a secret liaison with Castle or somebody? I've never heard you like that," Ryan teased.

"You'd better take that back or I'm going to slap you silly," she threatened. When he didn't answer immediately she started toward him.

"Okay, I take it back, I take it back," he affirmed.

"Good thing Castle, Jr., and I'm not your sister," she laughed.

After Ryan left to report the new findings, Dr. Parish began to wonder about just what kind of liaisons he might have been inferring.

Kate caught up with Esposito near the end of the day and informed him that they would meet together with Karl Voss, from robbery downstairs, in the morning. Afterward they'd try once again to make sense of the hours of traffic cam footage, which would probably kill most of the day. Wednesday went down pretty much like they expected it would. Murder boards were not fixed property; it only looked like Kate and her team owned one since they usually kept it so busy. Since there had been some days of inactivity, the one usually residing close to Kate's desk had been rolled down to one of the other teams. She went to the storage room and rolled a fresh one over to her desk and connected the lights. Then she went down to archives and pulled out all of the hard copy data and began the all too familiar process of populating the board with items from the GHR murder case. "You might want to title that GHR and HGR" said Ryan as he returned from the ME's office.

"Oh, and why do you say that," inquired Kate.

"Because our brothers are identical twins," replied Ryan.

"Which one do we have," was Kate's next question.

"Hernia Reeves," was the reply.

"I'm sorry, what?" murmured Kate.

"Oh, it's a long story, but we've got Henry, not his brother George."

"Just when I thought the day was going to be normal," Kate sighed.

"Who are you talking about," Esposito wanted to know as he approached the two.

"Not you," Kate replied.

"Oh, thanks for the compliment," he retorted.

"Does anyone know if the tow truck is still in the city impound lot? . . . Because if it is, we need to have another, closer look at it," Kate spoke to no one in particular.

They spent most of Thursday trying to locate the truck in the system. The traffic cam video finally yielded pay dirt. They simply had not started the playback early enough. When they backed it up to a 10:00 PM starting point the mystery became clearer. Around 10:15 PM the tow truck appeared on the street; and after several attempts to parallel park it near the intended car, it waited there. No one got out until two other guys showed up. There had been a scuffle, but it had been mostly obscured by the truck itself. There appeared to have been two gunshots from the flashes detected by the camera. The two other guys fled down the street and disappeared. Kate and Esposito had sent several frames of their escape to be video enhanced in the hopes of making a facial ID. After that, the scene played out like they had viewed it months ago. One of the Reeves brothers came up and started hitching up a car to the tow cable; and then he was abducted.

They finally located the truck and went out to the lot. It was plenty stale inside after being closed up for over three months. Esposito checked the driver's side. The first lucky break was a Delaware Turnpike toll receipt folded between a couple of dollar bills, which he found stuffed under the driver's seat. The date happened to be the same as the afternoon that Henry Reeves had left work never to be heard from again.

"Well that explains the mileage on the truck between jobs," Kate said.

There was a dried blood stain on the passenger's side of the seat, and what looked like a wad of paper napkins that the victim had used to help stem the flow. They were all darkened and brittle; besides the team already had the victim's ID. Finding little else, they headed back to the precinct. They gathered around the murder board after lunch. Kate returned to the items in the evidence box.

"Espo, you never mentioned that a big clod of mud came with these registration plates . . . maybe we better have this analyzed . . . I'd sure like to know where they took that other car," Kate muttered while still rummaging through the box.

Esposito grabbed a plastic bag and gloves, scooped up the mud and said he had it covered. As he turned around to take it to its destination he almost collided with Lanie who had made her way over to the group with a couple of 8 x 10 color glossy pictures in hand.

"Whoa, Chico . . . you heading to a fire," Lanie exclaimed as she dodged him.

Chico? Kate thought to herself; that didn't sound like professional Lanie. Kate's radar, which she didn't use nearly often enough involving personal relationships, finally switched on.

"I think there's something you guys need to see . . . I was going through the photo files that Dr. Perlmutter took when he made the examination for the cause of death. Look at the logo on those napkins stuck to his neck . . . that might help you find where he was before he got shot," Lanie offered.

"Hey, there's one of those only two or three blocks from the crime scene," stated Esposito, who had halted his mission to see what Lanie had.

Thanks to the lab's extensive data base on local soils and bodies of water, the results came back just after lunch on Friday. The mud had come from somewhere in the swampy meadowlands surrounding the Hackensack River, in Bergen County, New Jersey. The team had it mostly figured out from there. The team spent the next couple of hours writing up the reports. Kate asked Captain Montgomery if it would be okay to host one of those case closure meetings with Karl Voss present. He granted them permission; after all, everyone could use a couple of cold ones now and then. Near the close of the day they sat around the conference room and spun their version of how it all went down. So initially there were four involved. George HR collected the cars because he owned the tow truck. Henry ER had the intel on the loans and knew who was delinquent and slated for repo action. Freddie X and his buddy Ronny Y knew George HR and would locate the cars to be repo'd.

"Wait a minute," interjected Karl Voss, "Freddie X and Ronny Y, really?"

"You got any better names to substitute for those low life perps? . . . Besides they're in your court now . . . you can name them whatever you want," retorted Esposito.

So, they'd snitch the cars; alter the VIN's and re-sell them at auction; or use them for parts and collect the money for themselves. Henry ER would cook the books back at Auto-Loan-sMart and make the liens automatically disappear at the DMV. He got really devious so as to have the new title documents sent to a false address; they'd collect the titles and sign them over to new owners. The Reeves brothers would get their cut of the profits for their work. Fred and Ron were compliant at first; then cut them out of the deal after they had a back log of about two dozen cars. That's when it all went sideways. When the Reeves brothers came looking for them; they got the short end of the stick and they had decided to team up. George went down to Delaware to pick up Henry and come back to the city. Henry had acquired a gun. The two took a late-night snack together. For some reason Henry drove the truck to the scene; George must have been delayed. George must have agreed to walk over a couple of blocks and begin to hitch up when he got there; they must have decided to confront Fred and Ron together. But Fred and Ron arrive early; Henry gets out and confronts Fred and Ron alone; they overpower him; he gets shot in the process; and they make off with murder weapon. They put him in his brother's tow truck. They think they've shot George HR. George HR doesn't know it; he thinks Henry ER is still waiting quietly inside. Meanwhile the other two cruise around the block and scope out the scene. To their amazement, it looks like George HR has survived the shooting and gone back to work! George HR starts his work outside the truck. Since they don't know _how_ __he's still alive, they grab him in order finish him off and dump him where he can't be found. They dump his body along with the car used in the abduction, in the NJ Meadowlands. They change cars and abandon the other one in North Bergen and meet up with some friends in order to disappear. The two cars of least value are sacrificed. The others are sold to unknowing parties, and the perps and the cash evaporate. What they don't know is that the brothers were identical twins and that they had killed both of them; only one is still back in here in NYC! Case closed, well at least for homicide.

"Oh, so that's how you do it here in homicide," exclaimed Karl Voss, referring to the beer, "maybe I should put in for a transfer."

Kate found her way home and continued to unwind. She was elated that they had essentially closed a cold case; and had done it without Castle's input. Lanie was her good friend, but for some internal reason she couldn't explain, she wanted to prove Lanie wrong. It had been more restful than usual in the weeks since the KCBC episodes. Josh called around 10:00 PM.

"It's a little late for a date Josh," she replied.

"I was proposing something for Sunday . . . how about going out riding together? . . . The weather is supposed to be fantastic," he offered.

"Okay, you're on," Kate replied.

"Shall I come by your place, say around 10:30 AM?"

Kate spent Saturday making the needed preparations. Sunday turned out to be a splendid day just as the weatherman had promised. If she didn't have a favorite route, Josh had a suggestion. They headed across town, west from her place; got on the Henry Hudson Parkway and headed north; crossed the river over the George Washington Bridge and finally got on to NY route 4 towards Teaneck, NJ. While stopped at one of the lights in the town she mentioned that it hadn't been very scenic so far.

"Don't fret, it gets better," he said.

Further on they crossed the Hackensack River. Great, Kate recalled the case she had just closed, seems like I can't get away from my work . . . Still further down the road they got on to Route 17 and headed north past Paramus; from there they took the East Franklin Turnpike near Mahwah, which turned into the Orange Turnpike when they re-entered the state of New York. It began to wind its way into the Ramapo river valley. They branched off to Seven Lakes Drive near Sloatsburg. It was a beautiful ride; the trees were just beginning to turn colors, the mixture of reds, yellows, and greens was relaxing. They made a long loop around some of the lakes. Finally, they stopped for lunch at a little bar and grill off Orange Turnpike. It was popular with bikers, there had to be about twenty bikes parked outside when they arrived. To Kate's relief, it wasn't full of hard-core bikers when they entered; mostly the week-end tour types. They enjoyed an informal lunch and talked about how they had come to ride motorcycles.

"How did you find this place," Kate inquired more out of curiosity than anything.

"Just riding around one day – to get out of the city and clear my head," he replied.

Kate could empathize with that. He let her choose the route back to the city. When they arrived back at her place, she wanted to know if he had time to stop in. Unfortunately, no, he would be on duty in a couple of hours and needed to go get ready. He thanked her for the great afternoon, and gave her a kiss on the cheek, looked at her fondly for a moment and then turned toward his bike to make his departure. Kate stood there and watched a moment as he rode off. She felt good, calm. She was in mental neutral. It had been a very long time. Then she remembered Monday was coming; and along with it, Castle. Then she remembered something else; Josh hadn't mentioned anything more about the doctors without borders opportunity.


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: I hope you enjoy the less choppy, plot-line tweaked, and somewhat improved version. We stay in the Castle Universe, but with more of that 'dark matter', not in the canon, then back to Season 3, episodes 4 and 12 jumbled together, contrasting what Lanie and Espo have with what Castle wants to have but DMB is blocking the way._

 _Disclaimer: I do not own Castle – all credit goes to Andrew Marlow and the writing team for ABC's Castle; my thanks to them for providing a foundation for this little exercise._

12

Another Monday morning had arrived for the pleasure of those who had to work for a living. The previous evening had been the coldest one so far for the fall. As Kate was entering the precinct, she received a text around 7:30 AM from Castle: 'Won't see you today- flight was cancelled in St. Louis and travel plans are all messed up. Tomorrow?' She texted back: 'Tomorrow then.' For the moment, that was good enough for her. She would make good on her side of the bet regarding their being partners; determined that they would be partners in crime solving rather than partners in crime. What he did next and where he might go with Gina were going to remain his affairs, and she was not going to pry into it. She thought back to that awkward scene where he had acknowledged that he would respect her private life. She decided to respect his; unless he started into one of his frat boy kiss and tell episodes like he had done really early on. She remembered how uncomfortable she felt when he casually remarked to the team, while at a crime scene no less, of how he had slept with his first ex-wife the previous night; and had referred to her a 'deep fried Twinkie' – something that one might really enjoy once and a while, but a steady diet of it would be bad for one's health. The mental pictures the remark generated seemed to have been bad for the collective team's health. They all glared at him in unison until he finally got the point.

About the same hour as Kate had left her bed, another member of the homicide team began stirring and preparing for the workday at the precinct. The major difference was the location of the bed from which the stirrings began. Just like Kate and her date, it had been a relaxing and most enjoyable weekend; but again, the other date lasted far longer. So long, in fact, that Esposito decided to stay over rather than go back to his place at three o'clock in the morning. They had spent most of Saturday and Sunday together and had enjoyed every minute of it. Saturday had been a mini-travel adventure around Manhattan. It had developed into a 'show me what you like about NYC, and I'll show you what I like' tour. They had a number of 'likes' in common. A famous magician was booked into town for the weekend. They managed to get last minute tickets. It was a great Saturday evening. They met again for late morning brunch on Sunday, killed the afternoon, got take-out food for dinner, and turned the whole affair into a sleep-over. It had been their sixth and seventh dates together and things just heated up.

Dr. Lanie Parish stood at her bathroom mirror and tried to concentrate on getting ready for work. Hearing the shower running, without her in it, was something she had not yet experienced in her current apartment.

"Espo, are you almost done?" she demanded, "I can't keep the fog off this mirror."

"Si, mijita . . . are you sure it's the steam or is it just you?" he teased back.

After he had exited the shower, she grabbed his towel, thwacked him on the butt with it, and shoved him out the door, and pitched the towel out after him. He laughed as he collected his clothes and got ready for work. After a morning snack and coffee, they practiced the logistics required for dealing with a really close relationship, while sharing the same work spaces. They stood side by side in front of a mirror and looked straight ahead; then they looked at each other; then back toward the mirror. The drill was to make sure huge grins, which could not be wiped off or otherwise suppressed, would not appear; neither were smirks nor giggles, nor overly twinkly eyes allowed. It took some effort, but it was worth it since they wanted to keep their little affair a secret for the time being. Lanie sent Javier out first, then locked up and left about ten minutes later on a different subway train. At least she didn't have to go past his desk on the way to the ME's office. She had the luxury of entering a different building. The day passed slowly without incident.

From Tuesday morning onward, Richard Castle was becoming a normal sight back at the precinct's homicide department, incorporating the reestablished activity into his daily routine. It also gave him the discipline to get out of bed and get things done rather than lay around until ten or eleven o'clock and then wonder what had happened to the day. On most days he would be up and out by 7:30 AM, take the subway to a stop nearest the precinct, hit the coffee wagon on the way in, and make his presence known at Kate's desk, coffees in hand. Often is was just a social visit. Castle usually didn't stay around for routine police work or mundane cases. He would then complete his morning routine by going back uptown to Central Park and taking a hike of about two miles, continuing northward, then crossing Fifth Avenue, and working his way back home. Then he would begin research for another book; or work on the outlines or storyboards. He also had a folder which contained a digital murder board, which he used to shadow the developments on the ones at the precinct. There was a special folder for the case involving Kate's mother. At lunch time he would usually touch base with Gina.

Things were average for several weeks; so average that Kate thought about taking some vacation, what little she had. Just the thought was enough to bring on the weird and crazy murder case; one that would certainly capture Castle's attention. Early one frosty morning, the equestrian unit in Central Park found a body of a man in his late twenties, clad only in boxer shorts. Apparently, he had been shot to death. The Central Park precinct had plenty going on; and knowing that the 12th precinct liked the weird ones because of Castle's presence, they arranged to have jurisdiction of this one transferred down there. Dutifully Kate gave Castle a call and told him to meet her at the park instead of coming into the office. Right after that she gave Josh a call also, but it went straight to his voicemail as usual. She left him a message to get back with her.

The body had been found around 6:30 AM; it was now going on 8:30 AM, and Dr. Parish had arrived at the scene along with the CSU. Esposito and the homicide team would be along shortly; and of course, Castle. The two officers who made the find had given their statements. Lanie determined the victim's death had occurred somewhere between 11:30 PM and 12:30 AM. There was one large GSW to the chest and no signs of a struggle, no bruises or scratch marks. It appeared the body lay near where it had fallen, except for the disturbance of somebody removing the man's clothes. He had no watch, no jewelry, nor any tattoos. Castle arrived, coffees in hand.

"You know you could bring something for me once and awhile," Dr. Parish chided him.

"I didn't know you drank coffee," he began, "I've never seen you with one."

"I don't," she stated, "but some hot chocolate and one of those bear claw donuts would be nice . . . it's cold out here this morning, in case you hadn't noticed."

He nodded, set the coffees down, and went to bring Lanie's request. She wondered what Esposito was going to think when he discovered that Castle was bringing stuff for her also. The homicide team arrived, and to Lanie's relief, Esposito was being discrete.

Lanie hadn't been at work very long in the morgue when she summoned Kate and Richard down there to meet her.

"Well, I found what killed him," she stated as they walked in.

They began to list off bullet calibers as Lanie kept nodding 'No' to each one.

"I wouldn't even call it a bullet . . . it's nothing more than an irregular lead ball," she said as she directed their attention to one of the binocular magnifiers. "Also look at the thick coating of white lead oxide," she continued, "it's as if this thing has been laying around for a couple of hundred years before it found its way into him," she paused and turned the object over for them to inspect. "It's also got residue of potassium nitrate and sulfur," she added.

"As in black gunpowder?" Castle offered.

"You've got to be kidding me," Kate snorted, "are you trying to tell me he was shot with something out of the Civil War era?"

"All I can tell you is that a gun from the mid to late 1800's was most likely the weapon" Lanie concluded.

About an hour later, CSU posted their report. They had also canvassed a large area near the scene looking for any articles pertaining to the vic that a passerby may have picked up, inspected, and then discarded. They had found his wallet in a litter basket about a block away but still no sign of any articles of clothing. His driver's license was still in it, revealing the vic's name to be Daniel Goldstein. He was twenty-five years old. Some more digging back at the precinct rendered some very interesting facts about him; especially the statement from his sister. She, of course, was very disturbed to find out that he was dead. She couldn't imagine why anyone would want to shoot him; they talked only once or twice a month and the last conversation had not revealed anything out of the ordinary. Kate learned that he worked for a very prestigious investment company, Burman Rose, down near Wall Street; and that he was into very arcane math functions for derivatives and probability; to be used for investment instruments; for which, they paid him obscene amounts of money. He had even bought his sister her own apartment outright. As far as his sister knew, he didn't have any girlfriends or enemies; he was a geek, and his social skills weren't all that stellar. Neither she nor the homicide team could fathom any reason for a guy like that, who had a Soho address, to be involved in something uptown in Central Park in the middle of the night with work pending the next day. As Kate and Richard were on their way out to visit the investment firm, Ryan and Esposito excitedly informed them that the vic drove a DeLorean. Castle's face revealed the inner conflict of whether to hang with Beckett or go see a cool car. Ryan and Esposito were to go find the car and the clothes while Kate and Richard were to interview the vic's boss and coworkers. Kate also threw in the need to start a search for any antique gun enthusiasts living in Manhattan.

Ryan and Esposito checked the data base regarding anything on missing DeLoreans; instead they found one that had been ticketed for illegal parking on 80th street, between Lexington and 3rd Avenue. When they got to the location they couldn't believe their eyes. It was a DeLorean alright, but it had been tricked out to look like the crazy Doc's time machine from _Back to the Future_. While they were teasing each other about Hollywood movie sets, flux capacitors, and plutonium reactor modules, Ryan spotted a homeless man who also looked like _he_ had walked off a movie set and onto a NYC street pushing a grocery cart with all kinds of discarded stuff in it.

"Hey, maybe he's been in the vic's time machine," taunted Esposito.

He sure looked like it. He was dressed in rather formal, late nineteenth century clothing including a top hat, black polished cane with silver handle, dark brown frock coat and matching trousers, ascot, and a white frilled shirt with a conspicuous red blood stain on it.

"Hey, you, sir . . . we need to talk with you!" they yelled out in unison.

"Well top of the morning to you constables . . . Lord Henry, at your service," he replied as they approached him.

When the subject turned to where Lord Henry had obtained the clothes, the man began to run. They brought him in for evaluation and questioning. Needless to say, the blood on the shirt matched that of the victim in the morgue. Lanie added that the same potassium nitrate and sulfur gunshot residue had also been found; along with all kinds of 'don't want to describe' compounds the clothes had picked up from the dumpster and the homeless man. So, what was a super-rich, geeky Wall Street type, dressed in late 1800's period clothing, owner of a super cool yet geeky car, doing in Central Park near midnight? That was Castle's question exactly when they returned from the investment firm. Castle had noted two things. One of the executive secretaries, named Julia Foster, had been quite upset to learn of the victim's demise; and one of the co-workers, Adam Murphy, had said the vic was really into that period of history. More importantly, a huge investment fund that had been conceived by the vic, had tanked about three months ago, and various big-time investors had lost anywhere from a half a million to four or five million dollars each. Revenge for that debacle sure sounded like motive. It also sounded like that was about it for the day as it was getting toward quitting time. Castle had just made his exit when Kate received a call from Josh. She greeted him warmly.

". . . Hey, there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about.", she heard through the speaker. "I'm leaving on the doctors without borders assignment for a few months. I'll be in Guatemala, small village in the middle of nowhere . . . I was hoping we could meet before I have to leave . . . you know, just to talk things over," he went on to explain. They agreed on a date for the next evening after work.

In the course of the next day, their investigation came to a dead end regarding the antique gun collector who looked, according to Kate's description, like Yosemite Sam on a bad hair day. The collector, Ivan Padovski, also had money; or rather had more money until he lost four million dollars in that tanked fund. It sure looked like motive, and the threatening voice mail, which he had left for the victim, didn't help his case. To the collector's dismay, ballistics had taken custody of his guns and had test fired them to see if any matched the pattern on the lead ball. He had agreed to the idea only after Kate had presented the alternative of being placed under arrest for the alleged murder of the vic. He and his guns were released. Further digging along the path of the vic's love for all things nineteenth century yielded an address on the middle east side of Manhattan not that far from Central Park. A pattern emerged. The place was on 82nd street between Lexington and 3rd Avenue. From the façade, it looked to be a rather fancy place. When they rang the bell, a speak-easy door slid open and the doorman began asking some very strange questions. Castle knew the answers to the first couple of them, but when he faltered, Kate pulled out her NYPD shield and demanded access. They stepped into another world. It was a very specialized club, just like their experience at KCBC had been. The answer to Castle's inquiries as to where they found themselves and when, were: London, and 1892, respectively.

"Welcome to the 1892 Society," said the proprietor as he introduced himself.

Kate explained the purpose of their visit. While they conversed, Castle's eye caught something in a display case close to the bar.

"Those are just for show," said the proprietor as Kate removed one of the matched pair of black powder, dueling pistols, with polished rosewood handles, for closer inspection.

She sniffed the barrel. "This has been fired recently," she added with wrinkled nose from the stinky residue as she also took note of the small pile of lead balls, covered with a now familiar looking lead oxide.

Castle spun the story. Two guys from the club had been involved in a dispute; they decided to solve it by an old-fashioned duel to regain their honor. Castle remembered the scene at the park. Some evidence had also been found a distance from the spot of the fallen man; it had been about forty paces. That had to be it. A duel at midnight. They would fire at one another on the last chime of the church bell striking midnight. The bells from St. James Church on Madison Avenue would have been within hearing range from their location in the park. Their vic had lost; all they needed to do now was find the dueling partner. On the way back, they decided to walk down the crime scene together. All of the sudden Kate really liked the idea. It was a good thing he was there because Kate got caught up in the moment and drifted off the walking surface. She couldn't have picked a worse spot. Her foot landed on just the wrong side of the walkway into a narrow gully. She yelled out in pain from a turned ankle. Castle immediately grabbed her before she fell sideways. She had wanted to be near him, and she had received her wish but with a throbbing ankle to accompany it. They just stood there together in an impromptu hug until the pain subsided. Fortunately, it wasn't serious, the pain lessened, and she seemed to manage well after a few dozen more paces. He took her hand and she freely let him have it.

Kate made a call back to the precinct to have Mr. Goldstein's coworkers brought in to answer a few more questions. Someone had not been telling everything they knew. Away from the office, and in a more official police atmosphere, Adam Murphy and Julia Foster revealed what had really happened. They had all been out at the club that night sitting at the bar. The bar tender had been listening in with great interest, in fact he had even suggested how they settle the matter. It wasn't the first time the subject had come up. The secretary, Julia, had been the object of their competing affections. Yeah, why not a duel? Certainly she would respect the guy who didn't chicken out, right? The vic understood that unrifled dueling pistols of that era were notoriously inaccurate; but just to make sure, he had done all kinds of trajectory and probability calculations to prove the relative safety of the dare. At forty paces, it would have been virtually impossible for them to hit one another even if they pointed the guns in the general direction of their opponent. Goldstein had obtained black powder and wadding. The secretary related her side of it:

"Upon hearing that Daniel had the powder, they grabbed the pistols and shot from the showcase and we left for the park. We got to the meeting place at just ten minutes before midnight. It was just like Mr. Castle said. When the shots went off, Daniel went limp and then fell down. We thought he was just faking it for effect. When we got to him we saw the blood. I was furious, but then got really scared. I mean, what were we supposed to do?"

"You could have called 911," suggested Kate.

"We thought of that, but then what about the clothes and the guns? They would have thought we were all crazy and locked us up. We'd all lose our jobs," she sobbed. "We grabbed the clothes and the guns and got outt'a there. Adam Murphy sneaked the guns back to the club before closing. We agreed not to talk any more about it," she concluded.

The secretary returned to her workplace alone.

"So now we have to determine between manslaughter and murder for Mr. Murphy," Kate said after they had taken him to holding.

"What's the difference?" remarked Castle.

"Two years and early parole possible for manslaughter, but life imprisonment and no parole for murder," Kate explained.

"Does it matter if it's first or second degree murder," Castle inquired, not having really thought about that during his prior research efforts.

"That's for a judge and jury to decide," Kate muttered.

"Either way it sounds like a very high price to pay just for trying to impress a girl."

"Not as high as the price paid by our vic," retorted Kate.

They had to convince themselves before they could convince the DA's office and there was only one way to find out. They had one of the uniforms make a run up to the 1892 Society to collect the two guns and all of the lead balls they could find. The officer in charge of ballistics said they could have as much time as they needed on the practice range the next day; and that the department would arrange to have a good supply of black powder and lead balls handy since they had personnel already in practice from firing the antique gun collection the day before. After that had been arranged, Castle took his leave for the day.

"Hope the ankle will be okay . . . Tomorrow?" he asked in closing.

"Tomorrow," she replied.

"And always," he reminded her as he turned to leave.

The words continued to echo in Kate's head as she prepared for her date with Josh.

After the morning coffee ritual, Kate and Castle found their way downstairs to the target range. The officer in charge had everything ready for them to start firing away; after the appropriate paperwork had been signed of course, and that included Castle. Each donned the ear muffs, picked up one of the loaded pistols and took a shot at the paper targets. The officer on duty was highly miffed at their apparent foolishness.

"Mr. Castle you're supposed to be aiming at target #2 . . . so what are you doing putting holes in #4?" he demanded.

Castle told him in earnest that he was trying for target #2. They tried a few more rounds. Lead balls went flying everywhere and the target range was getting rather torn up as a result. The officer was furious; since he was not the one on duty the previous day for the test firing of Mr. Padovski's weaponry. The two shooters began to think it was rather amusing. They tried to keep their grins to themselves. The next few rounds found them standing together, his hands trying to steady hers; when that didn't seem to work, they switched guns and shooters, and she tried to steady him. Same results, except that Kate was beginning to enjoy the physical contact. They enjoyed a few more rounds using a bench rest, and even a laser pointer to the target. The final decision was 'manslaughter'; one couldn't hit the broad side of a barn with the alleged murder weapons.

"Who knows Castle . . . you might become a good shot someday if you keep practicing like that," Kate teased.

"Maybe . . . if you keep helping me like that," he replied with a smirk.

As they signed out, Castle declared that he had something to ask Lanie. On the way up the steps Kate could feel him staring at her back side; she smiled broadly, she really liked having him around; but she really like having Josh around too.

Lanie proved to be elsewhere when they called the ME's office. Castle decided to call it a day. But he asked to borrow one of the pistols for further research as to its origins. He could have it for one night, but no shot or powder, and he was to remain fully responsible for its whereabouts at all times. Outside the precinct, as he was thinking taxi or subway . . . a bus went by with an ad slogan from some insurance company announcing that 'life comes at you fast'; which could have been his motto over the last several weeks. He had laid low for a while, attended to his business of promoting his book and keeping Gina happy; and it seemed the whole world had gone on without him; not that he expected otherwise, but all the others close to him had been involved to a much greater degree than he had ever imagined.

His mother had returned happy and with a sense of accomplishment regarding her summer theater tour. They had spent four of five evenings during dinner at the loft hearing the highs and the lows of the show and the exploits of the company during their time off. She had immediately reconnected with Chet upon her return; and when she wasn't at the loft she had been spending quite a bit of time with him. The big surprise came a few weeks after she arrived back home. One evening she strode into the loft wearing a sizable diamond engagement ring. He made her put it on in order to help her think about it; although she hadn't said 'Yes'. Or was that 'death comes at you fast'; because in Martha's case, another couple of weeks went by and Chet was no more. Martha felt horrible that she was all set to break a dear man's heart. Fortunately, Castle had been there to comfort her. By not rejecting Chet's proposal right away, he said she gave the guy a few more days of hope. This seemed to make Martha feel a little bit better. She had replied:

"Richard, whatever mistakes I made in my life, I raised a good man."

It had made him happy to hear that coming from her. Speaking of hope, he wondered if there were more days of hope with Gina in his future. Things had warmed up a little bit since the Hamptons. At least they were much more civil; more 'us'; and less of work. He gave her a call. She didn't have plans. That was good to hear; they agreed to meet for the evening; if he made it home to the loft later that evening, that was fine; and if not, that was fine too.

Arriving at the loft had also become an adventure for not only him but for Alexis. Her junior year in high school was in full swing and so was a budding romance with a young guy named Ashley, who had just entered his senior year. Their first meeting with Richard was just as bad if not worse than when Alexis had introduced Carter from the summer program. Most of the reaction was due to Richard's realization that the frequent visitor was a guy and not a girlfriend. Ashley and Alexis where sharing a pretty good kiss while comfortably situated on the couch when he entered. It was a wonder the poor lad was still dating her. Castle had one of his frat boy ideas. It would be like the old days of bursting in on his roommate and embarrassing the heck out of him and the girlfriend. He took the pistol out of its leather case as he walked through the door. It took some explaining; and after everyone calmed down, he had promised there were no hard feelings on his part. Alexis was highly upset over the matter and stormed upstairs after Ashley had said nervous goodbyes to the both of them.

The next morning a thoroughly chided Richard Castle returned the pistol to the precinct's evidence department. Then he went out in search of coffee, hot chocolate, and bear claws. Lanie gladly accepted his offering as she had the day before even though it was much warmer in the morgue than it was outside.

"Lanie," he began, "I've been meaning to ask you . . . could you determine from what angle the bullet entered the vic?" he inquired.

"Of course," she replied, "let me get the report called up here."

It turned out the angle was between forty and fifty degrees from the plane of the vic's chest. Castle did the math and mentally reconstructed the crime scene. A bullet from the dueling opponent's gun would have to have been the world's most vicious curve ball to have hit the victim from that angle . . . unless . . .

"There had been a third shooter!", he and Kate declared in unison, after he had elaborated Lanie's findings to her.

Castle remembered a clump of trees that could have hidden another shooter. He was also becoming very sure of his theory upon recalling it was the bartender who suggested it. But without hard evidence from the third shooter's location, the theory had one flaw. It assumed the duelers were aiming straight at each other. Castle was almost overjoyed when another connection was found; and this one had possible motive. Ryan had produced a list of the investors that had lost big money in the tanked fund. One of the names on that list corresponded to another name on the 1892 Society's employee list.

"Let me guess, it was the bartender," stated Castle in a tone that indicated he would take bets on it.

It was. The team headed back to Central Park while Esposito put out a 'BOLO' for the bartender. It all quickly fell into place. Some dark red fibers were found mingled with the tree bark in a couple of places. Castle remembered seeing that color of clothing in the club – it was definitely the bartender's jacket. Back at the precinct they got his confession. It had been his father, Charles Kenworth, who had lost everything in the fund. His father had died about six weeks ago – a suicide. He had rigged his shot gun and then killed himself. His son, Troy Kenworth, went on a rampage from the pent-up anger. He had lost his good job; now all he had was the bartender's gig. He had planned the entire thing; had even taken the trouble to have his father's shot gun modified to shoot lead balls; then at the last chime of the clock, he fired when the duelers did, and unlike theirs, his shot had been dead on. A much relieved and much wiser Mr. Murphy was released to offer his sincere apology to a certain secretary. Kate and the team were standing in the aisle way briefing Captain Montgomery on the case closure. Suddenly a new visitor to the precinct showed up.

"Josh?!" gushed Kate upon seeing him walk up. "I see you got my text, I thought you were going to wait for me to come pick you up."

"I was already in the neighborhood . . . so I thought I'd stop by and surprise you," he replied in a suave voice.

She was surprised; and so were the other four men. Kate made hasty introductions.

"Mr. Castle . . . you're the writer," said Josh, as they both looked at one another in a contentious way. "Oh, so she hasn't told you anything about me," Josh offered.

"What's to tell?" countered Castle.

Before there was opportunity to advance the conversation, Kate grabbed her tote bag from under her desk, which contained a motorcycle helmet and gloves along with her other stuff. She and Josh walked out together, leaving the four men puzzling on where that had come from. As quitting time became official, Esposito received two back-to-back texts from Lanie. Castle turned his head to see what was up. He noted the last text Esposito sent started with 'Hola Chica!' It wasn't the most professional greeting he had heard. He began to wonder what was up.

Well, now Beckett was trying out a new boyfriend and Castle appeared to be more of an office accessory; and on top of that he surmised that something was warming up between Esposito and Parish. He was almost too scared to ask Ryan how things were going with Jenny. Maybe he would just get started on the next book in the series since it looked like everyone else had already started into their personal projects. Time was rapidly approaching for the annual Halloween party but with the dynamics in his own relationships, he began to wonder if it would be such a good idea to host it this year; seeing that not inviting certain individuals would cause just as much trouble as inviting them; and putting them in the same venue together regardless of their disguises. What Castle didn't know was that Josh would be spending the rest of the year in Guatemala.

The following Monday began like the previous one for Lanie and Espo except they got phone notifications at a much earlier hour. The first one to ping was Esposito's. His arm extended from under the cozy covers to grab the phone on the chair next to the bed. A moment later, Lanie's arm extended from the opposite side to retrieve hers from the night stand.

"You know we gotta go to work," said Esposito in a sleepy voice.

"Yeah, I know . . . so you listen to me Javier . . . when we get to that crime scene . . . I don't want you to smile at me, I don't want you to wink at me, I don't want you to even talk to me unless you have to . . . _and_ , I don't want you to look at me with those puppy-dog eyes . . . got it?" she commanded.

"Got it," he replied as he snapped a picture of her with his phone.

"Oh, and that had better not show up anywhere on the planet as wallpaper or caller ID," she added.

Meanwhile, Kate had informed Castle to report directly to the scene. She came separately as did Ryan and Esposito. As Esposito was coming up behind Castle, he overheard the end of an apparently not so friendly conversation.

"Look, I don't want to have this kind of a discussion right now, I'm at work . . . It is so work," he huffed as he hit the call end button in a brusque manner. As Esposito caught up with him, he turned and offered some advice: "Never sleep with a coworker," he began. Esposito looked both puzzled and shocked. "I tell you, it doesn't end well," Castle went on.

Esposito went all paranoid. "Who knows?" he inquired.

"Everyone knows!" exclaimed Castle.

"Everyone knows what?" asked Kate as she approached the two of them.

There was no coffee waiting this particular morning. They both stood there in Kate's presence almost frozen.

"Oh nothing," they replied in unison.

Seeing that they were being interrogated by Kate, Ryan keyed the walkie-talkie. Esposito replied that he would be right there and used it as his excuse to leave their company. Castle began to take note of his surroundings.

"You mean the murder scene is here? . . . Drake's Magic Shop? . . . I used to come here as a kid . . . I loved this place", he went on.

"Well, I did too," added Kate, "this kind of stuff isn't just for boys only. . . my grandfather was into it . . . and he brought me here too," she replied.

"Oh? So, do you know any good tricks?" questioned Castle with obvious double entendre.

"Well, I do this one thing . . . with ice cubes . . .," she teased back.

Castle almost clawed the glass of the display window as the impact sank in. They entered the shop. Their fears were realized when they found the proprietor, Zhalman Drake, laid out on one of the counters. The ME's team had fished him out of the water tank where had been found by the shop assistant when she opened up for the day. He appeared to have been drowned. Dr. Parish was already going over him when the rest of the homicide team entered.

"I don't know what people see in this magic stuff," she went on as she worked.

Esposito cocked an eyebrow but said nothing. Lanie said she could determine more after she got the victim back to the morgue. They finished up at the scene and returned to the office.

Castle made a special cup of coffee for Kate using the machine in the break room. She took a few sips but then went off to attend to something else. Ryan took the moment to tease Castle and make Espo even more paranoid at the same time.

"Well looks like someone had a little secret," he began.

Espo took the bait. "Who knows?" he asked almost in panic.

"It looks like everybody knows . . . take a look at page 6," he said as he handed his partner the morning paper.

'Well known writer Richard Castle trades biting words with his Girlfriend' the article began.

"Oh, so that's what he was talking about," replied Esposito with a huge sigh of relief.

It turned out that they had released a PDA – public display of anger, in Martha's words, at a very nice restaurant uptown several nights before the article was written. Someone at the press must have caught wind of it and interviewed the staff. He hadn't mentioned it to anybody. It wasn't over because when he arrived home for the evening he found Alexis and Martha spending some time together but teamed up against him.

"What a perfect example of domestic harmony," he teased as he entered.

"And what a perfect example of a cave man," Martha replied, showing him the article, "why didn't you tell us," she wanted to know.

Alexis kept her attention on her studies. "You know, I'd really like to _change_ the subject", he said as he pulled a sleight of hand so as to make it appear that he produced a quarter from behind his daughter's ear.

"Dad, what am I, six," she exclaimed as she appeared have produced a twenty-dollar bill out of thin air.

"Ah, good one," her dad responded.

Ashley wasn't present for the magic show that evening since he had realized that studying for tests was temporarily more important than hanging out Alexis. Martha and her son moved the conversation into the kitchen and lowered their voices. Castle explained that the argument had been over the causes of their frequent arguments, and why he was always having to declare a truce. During the conversation, his cell phone received a call from Gina.

"Go ahead, answer the call," commanded his mother.

"What call?" retorted Richard as he made the phone not only stop ringing but also disappear up his sleeve.

"Ah, very good," noted his mother, "but making the phone disappear isn't going to make your problem disappear," she finished.

He knew his problem. He and Gina were no longer in love; the spark had gone out of their relationship permanently; all the magic was gone.

"And it's the magic you're looking for isn't it?" Martha concluded when she saw Kate Beckett's picture as wallpaper on his mobile phone, as he slid it back out of his sleeve. He couldn't deny it.

The murder case dragged on. Zhalman Drake had been an icon in the business. Both professional and amateur alike knew about him. It was sad to realize it might be the end of an era when his shop would be closed for good. The suspects came and went as did the crazy Castle theories to go along with them. This case had one thing in common with the Reeves brothers' case. It turned out that Zhalman had a twin brother named Edman. What were the odds of another pair of twins getting involved in something shady Esposito had wanted to know. After a quick check on the rate of twin births, Castle mentioned that given a round number of ten million people in the tri-state area around NYC, that would potentially leave forty-five thousand such individuals. So, if even just one tenth of one percent of those went astray, that would still leave about forty-five individuals potentially on the radar screen for the police departments somewhere.

All of the sudden it was starting to look like twin brothers were at it again. Zhalman had contacted his brother for his accounting skills. He needed to find a way to hide a half a million dollars he was going to receive at the shop. Kate and Castle were on at the warehouse that Zhalman used to develop his stage tricks when Edman showed up unannounced. Upon seeing Edman for the first time, Castle exclaimed that it had been the best disappearing trick ever. But after finding out that Edman was an identical twin, Castle spun his evil twin theory that Zhalman killed Edman and took his identity and family too. Kate asked him to reevaluate that one . . . who would go from magic in Manhattan to accountant in Poughkeepsie? Then there was Tobias Strange, a rising star on the sleight of hand stage. The team gathered near Ryan's desk to determine where to turn their collective attention next.

"Well, they sure are masters at disappearing . . . we saw Tobias Strange's show over the weekend, and he was fantastic . . . we thoroughly enjoyed it," Esposito exclaimed.

"We?" questioned Ryan. "Yeah, me . . . and my buddy Ray," corrected Esposito.

"You went with another guy, Ray, to see a magic show together," Ryan declared, speaking slowly so as to let every word sink in for the immediate audience.

After that, Kate and Castle headed out. It turned out that Zhalman had worked for Tobias Strange; having designed a number of his most mystifying tricks and had been his exclusive consultant. Then things changed. Someone had made Zhalman an offer he couldn't refuse, and Tobias had been cut out in the process. Castle pinned motive on Tobias. Kate reminded him it wasn't the cold war . . . and that a change of clients wouldn't necessarily be cause for murder. While they were exiting the theater where Tobias and his troupe had been rehearsing, Kate took a call from Lanie.

"We'll be right there," replied Kate.

"Let me guess, Zhalman didn't drown in his own tank," said Castle as she pocketed the phone.

It was getting late in the day as they made their way back to the ME's office to see what Dr. Parish had found.

"Well it took you long enough . . . where were you . . . Europe?" demanded Dr. Parish as they walked in.

They were both rather shocked to see Lanie dressed in something way different than her medical scrubs.

"Traffic was terrible," remarked Kate.

"Wow" remarked Castle, "dressed to the nines with some place to go . . . who's the lucky victim?"

"Well, I'll tell you Richard Castle, if you tell me what's been going on between you and Gina," she replied as she opened the morning's paper to page six and showed them both the article.

Kate's face brightened momentarily while Richard's wore embarrassment.

"Hey, can we focus on our victim here," inquired Castle with obvious intent on changing the subject.

After the effects of the victim's upside-down immersion in the water tank had been accounted for, Lanie had studied the lividity and found hand and finger patterns on the mouth and nose. Not only that, but no water had been found in the lungs. He had been asphyxiated and then placed in the tank. The murderer had worn expensive, leather gloves, lined with rabbit fur. Lanie had found evidence of that in the vic's mouth. As the little show and tell event was unfolding in the morgue, Esposito burst in unannounced.

"Hola chica . . . I was in the 'hood and . . .," he said nonchalantly until he saw the audience.

"And you wanted that evidence I found for you . . . just a second and I'll go get it," exclaimed Lanie, as she dropped what she was doing and went over to another desk to pull a manila envelope for him.

"Another case," Esposito covered for himself when he saw the perplexed looks on their faces.

But he had come prepared. He had another lead on the Drake case. Kate and Richard took the distraction and headed out for the day, ready to start chasing it down later.

"That was close," Lanie said with a stern look after the doors had swung shut.

"No . . . this is close" said Espo as he gathered her up for hug and a kiss. "Let's go to dinner," he concluded.

Castle tagged along, coffees in hand, as they made their way to question the next suspect in the case. They found him after some serious cross referencing. His wheelchair had given them his ID and whereabouts. The wheelchair tracks had been found on the floor of Zhalman's studio, which was separate from the magic shop. It turned out that the handicapped suspect worked for Zhalman. He had a specialty in all things electro-mechanical; including animated prosthetics. Zhalman had wanted him to build a realistic mechanical arm.

"What was it supposed to do?" asked Kate.

"Anything a regular arm could do . . . I don't know, turn a knob, flip a switch . . . you name it," he had responded.

They were slowly getting closer to the workings of Zhalman's project; they just didn't know for whom. Around early afternoon they were standing close together at the murder board still puzzling over Zhalman's project and its intended recipient. They joked about the supposed mind reading tricks magicians often staged. Castle theorized that an assistant somehow obtained a name or picture from the person's wallet and then slipped it back or something like that.

"You mean like this?" asked Kate innocently as she handed him his cell phone.

"You mean you had your hand in my pocket and I didn't even feel it?" he gasped in true surprise.

She just beamed at him. The phone rang at that moment. Gina's picture and ID showed on the screen.

"Excuse me . . . I really gotta take the call this time," he said in a serious tone.

Kate understood. He wandered down the aisle way back toward the entry hall with the phone still held to his ear. The conversation went on a good while. Kate wanted to sneak a glance as to how things might have been going. She made her way over to the break room and purchased a bottle of water from the machine. She exited the break room via the other door that was oriented toward the hallway. As she passed Castle, she heard:

". . . No, what I'm saying is that it's over. I'm tired of calling the truce. It just doesn't work." Richard Castle's voice had a tired heaviness in it.

So, the angry words and the break up with Gina were official she thought for a brief _schadenfreude_ moment. She was somewhat sorry for him but very glad for herself until she noted the spot where Castle was leaning when had said the words. It was the very same place she had been leaning when she told Tom Demming it was over between the two of them. The _schadenfreude_ faded quickly. The rest of the afternoon followed right behind it.

The next day CSU posted its extensive findings report from the sweep of Zhalman Drake's design studio. They analyzed how long a large fork and spoon symbol found on one of the bare walls had been there. The paint had been applied only a few days ago. They found traces of the explosive C-4 on his work bench; and they found traces of a compound in jet fuel and hydraulic fluid on a pair of his shoes left in the studio. All of it added up to only one conclusion: he was building a remote-controlled bomb for someone. It seemed more terrorist activity than magic trick. With that to go on, they began a search for reported explosions in and around NYC for the past week. There was plenty of material to go through, but one thing stood out from the rest. Billionaire investor Christian Dahl's Leer Jet had exploded about twenty miles east of Long Island not long after take-off. He had set out to break the speed record for crossing the Atlantic. The more they researched the more reason they found for him to want to disappear. They obtained the video record of his preparations, pre-flight checks, taxi, and take-off. It all came together when they saw who drove up in the catering van – Zhalman Drake himself. The logo on the van matched the overspray of paint on the wall of the studio. It was a disappearing trick after all. Kate and Richard watched the video together, keeping close to one another the whole time.

As Kate was piecing together all of the tangled ends of the story, Richard discretely shot glances at her; admiring her on all levels. As she became more engrossed in her analysis, the glances became almost stares. He studied her carefully. He knew all her mannerisms; he considered most of them rather cute. A number of them had been transferred into the fictional Nikki Heat. He loved her hands; how she would knit her long delicate fingers together when she was thinking hard. She had lost that stone-cold cop look when she analyzed things. It was no longer like that first night at the precinct; but perhaps, she had only come across like that trying to impress him somehow. She had filled out slightly; less gangly than two years ago, now somehow smoother, softer, even more womanly than before. She had let her hair grow out that whole time. It had been a good idea, which had made her appear even sexier and more alluring. As the hair had lengthened, a new mannerism had come with it. She would unconsciously reach up and pull a lock of her hair back and tuck it behind her ear just before she would start a serious conversation with someone. Of late, she paid more attention to her makeup and facial preparation; and now used a subtle shade of lipstick. He wondered if these enhancements had been made on Dr. Parish's advice. Whatever the motivation, he was glad she had made those choices. He was becoming more than just fond of Kate Beckett. He could foresee doing stuff like this with Kate Beckett long into the distant future. His reverie was cut short when she finally declared that she had figured it out.

The completed puzzle fell into place. Dahl was in trouble from many angles, including an investigation by the SEC. His supposed billions were frozen by the Feds. He had lost his fashion model wife. He found Zhalman Drake while Drake had been providing the entertainment at a benefit dinner and made the struggling magician an offer he couldn't refuse. Half a million dollars to make Dahl disappear and make it look like a tragic accident; only problem was that Dahl made the offer with no intention of paying. Drake, dressed as a caterer, loaded the animatronic Dahl, the bomb, and remote avionics control on the plane disguised as food and drink for the flight. He put the real Christian Dahl in the same box and loaded him onto the van. The animatronic Dahl with specialized arm sat in the cockpit. The plane took off and flew by remote control just as the bomb was detonated by remote control. So that meant Christian Dahl was still alive somewhere, and only Drake knew the secret. Dahl had silenced Drake personally by smothering him with those rabbit fur-lined gloves. Now all they needed was a confession. Castle nursed a hunch while Kate made a plan. Dahl liked to do everything big; perhaps even dare to attend his own funeral – that was the hunch. One thing Dahl liked was the occult and the hereafter, but he was glad he wasn't the one visiting the place. Castle had been right in that they clocked a rather freaky looking student-type visiting the funeral venue; the only part of the disguise that didn't harmonize were the thousand-dollar pair of shoes he was wearing.

"Mr. Dahl," said Kate as she walked up to him. He subconsciously turned at the sound of his own name, "you're under arrest for the murder of Zhalman Drake," she continued as the homicide team surrounded him and took him in.

The attendees at the funeral viewing were none the wiser. Kate knew Dahl had an army of lawyers, so she had arranged for some very unorthodox help back at the precinct. Of course, Dahl denied everything, but before the lawyers could arrive something strange happened. As Dahl was threatening to bury anyone who tried to touch him legally a cool breeze swept past his right side and a flash of light appeared off the two-way mirror. Dahl was immediately disturbed by it. Kate and Richard played dumb.

"Didn't you see it?" Dahl asked nervously.

"See what?" they asked as they turned to look behind themselves and at the two-way mirror.

They turned back, gave him a puzzled look, and asked him to continue his testimony. Suddenly, from the direction of the two-way mirror, the pale apparition of Zhalman Drake appeared to float on thin air. Dahl left his chair and backed up against the opposite wall.

"It's not possible . . . how are you doing that," he demanded.

They stared at him like he was crazy.

"It can't be you . . . I killed you!" gasped Dahl.

"Alacazam, jack-ass!" gushed Beckett.

She called for uniforms to take him immediately to holding. After he had been taken away, Castle asked why she thought it was going to work.

"I didn't know. . . but it was worth a shot," she replied.

"Great performance guys," she said as Tobias Strange and Edman Drake exited the observation room next to the interrogation box.

Kate Beckett, Richard Castle, and Kevin Ryan bade them farewell and huddled for the case closure session.

"Where's Esposito?" Ryan asked.

"With Lanie," sighed Kate.

"Let's let them think we don't know for a little while longer; that bubble will burst soon enough," Castle added.

"Not if you're in it with the right person," Kate said as she looked at Richard with the kind of look he had seen briefly in Central Park.

He began to wonder again. I mean, who knows, he thought to himself. Maybe we can make things work this time now that Gina's out of the way. He again wondered what it would take to get Josh out of the way.


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: I hope you enjoy the less choppy, plot-line tweaked, and somewhat improved version. We stay in the Castle Universe, with a true to canon backtrack to season 3, episode 11. Just couldn't leave this one out – it's too darn funny; and it's great to see Kate get so self-conscience, only once again to come to a realization about her and Castle. It was my goal to effectively capture the visuals and see if they would replay well on paper. Hope I did ok – enjoy._

 _Disclaimer: I do not own Castle – all credit goes to Andrew Marlow and the writing team for ABC's Castle; my thanks to them for providing a foundation for this little exercise._

13

The barometer was on the rise toward the end of the first week in November; at least as far as the Richard Castle and Kate Beckett relationship was concerned. Richard Castle had received an email directing his attention to a large video file in a specific drop box belonging to a movie studio in Los Angles, California. The 12th precinct had received a phone call with a request. Captain Montgomery called Kate into his office one evening with still another proposition regarding a visitor to the precinct. It appeared that the first installment of the Nikki Heat series was picked up for film. The studio wanted to know if the actress, whom the casting director had selected for the role of Nikki, could shadow the NYPD for a week or so. More importantly, so that she could really see Kate Beckett in action. Kate thought why not? The disturbance wouldn't be any worse than usual and it might put Castle in a tizzy. That would be fun to see.

The video clip of the screen tests for the role of Nikki Heat had certainly put Richard Castle in a tizzy. Martha and Alexis found their way to his office upon hearing the ranting coming from within. Martha, at first, thought it might have been another row with Gina.

"What? . . . How can they do that? . . . they've ruined the whole thing . . . what a hack . . . these lines . . . 'No, I think you feel trapped, and are serious as hell. But right now, you have to think about those people who love you. Now put the gun down!' . . . like that's going to stop someone from killing themselves," Richard was on his diatribe when they entered.

"What's going on?", Martha asked completely puzzled by his temperament.

"Look at this," he replied in disgust as he restarted the video clip.

He covered his ears and let Martha and Alexis take it all in.

"It's gonna bomb, she and that screen writer are gonna sink it to the bottom . . . I mean, Nikki Heat is smart, smooth, calculating, and complex . . . she'd never say something like that. Nikki Heat is not some blonde bimbo who looks like she just discovered which end of a pistol to hold only ten minutes before the take," he continued.

"Oh, come on now, give the girl a chance, it's just a screen test," replied Martha, voicing her empathy for the trade.

"So, what's so wrong with Natalie Rhodes," Alexis wanted to know, "she was very convincing in the film _Crawl Space_. The fan magazines said she even spent a whole week living in the crawl space under a house to prepare for the part," she continued.

They both went on to elaborate a number of other films in which she had done well. Most were just B-grade movies.

"More like C-grade movies," retorted Richard.

"Just let it rest . . . you can't necessarily judge a book by its cover," Martha offered the well-known adage.

"Yes, I can . . . especially when it's my book," he replied.

They had been discussing the matter for another ten minutes or so when his cell phone rang. Alexis noted it was Beckett.

"Look dad, it's Beckett. Maybe she's got a nice murder case for you to solve . . . that should calm you down," she said half teasing and half serious.

He took the call. He met Kevin Ryan on the walk up to the alley where the crime scene was located. They could see from a distance that CSU had already begun the preparations. Beckett and Esposito were not there yet. Castle was in for another surprise. In his absence, things had apparently heated way up between Kevin and Jenny; he was arranging to propose. He showed Castle the engagement ring. Castle teased Ryan a little bit.

"So, what are you going to do, I mean how are you going to pop the question?"

"I don't know . . . I thought I'd just ask," Ryan replied in a matter of fact tone.

"You can't just ask . . . it should be big . . . you gotta make a statement . . . maybe hot air balloon . . . or a helicopter ride . . . there's a heliport on the south tip of Manhattan, right there on the pier across from the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Park."

"Ask what," inquired Kate as she was walking up to meet them.

Castle turned, with ring still in hand and inquired:

"Will you marry me?"

Kate was unimpressed and gave Castle a 'cut the comedy' look. She knew Ryan had been talking about the idea for a month or so.

"And I don't know about that helicopter thing . . . great idea unless you want to share your most intimate moment with Reggie the chopper pilot listening in," she said with an air of exasperation.

They continued the walk up to the scene together, spent a significant amount of time there, and mostly finished up their portion of the work, leaving CSU with still a long way to go. The victim was a woman in her mid-forties. Nicely dressed, but she had been impaled on an iron fence. It turned out she was a well-known, and sought after, matchmaker for the rich and famous of NYC. The sad part of it all was that she had been murdered sometime after leaving a party; which sixty happy couples, the result of her successful work, had thrown in her honor. She had all of her belongings except for her keys. Ryan and Esposito had been dispatched to her office to see if someone wanted those keys to gain access. They had. The office had been trashed; obviously someone was looking for something – something they considered worth killing for. Kate also called the precinct to get an assistant detective to work on rounding up the couples who had attended that party. While they were questioning Lanie about some of the other details, a black limo pulled up to the crime scene and a blonde woman got out and made her way over to the homicide team like she belonged there. Police activity halted for a moment as some on the NYPD staff recognized who it was. Castle looked on with a mixture of complete surprise and mild disgust. He recognized her immediately. Ryan and Esposito ate up the moment to speak to Natalie Rhodes in real life; or more accurately to gawk at her. Kate also introduced Castle. The name didn't seem to register with Ms. Rhodes. The homicide team, with black limo following behind, returned to the precinct. Kate, Natalie, and Richard went in through the main entrance and up the stairs. When the staff sensed the new arrival, work came to a screeching halt. Both Kate and Captain Montgomery had announced in advance that a movie star would be shadowing Kate for a week or so; and that everyone was to do their jobs in a normal way. Everyone had collectively forgotten that suggestion. Kate tried to apologize to Natalie, but she was used to the reaction. She removed her coat and draped it over Castle's arm as if he were one of the people she kept around to care for such things. After Kate had tried in vain to shake everyone back to reality, Natalie said:

"Let's just get it over with . . . everyone who wants photos, selfies and autographs can come over here."

There was a mad rush in that direction. Kate looked on with some amusement. As the crowed thinned out, Kate noticed two uniforms bringing in the first of the party invitees. She removed her coat and followed Natalie's example.

"Hey Natalie, you want to participate in your first interview with a suspect?" she called over.

They headed off toward the interrogation room leaving Castle standing there holding some overcoats. Castle dealt with the cargo and found his way over to the box. Kate had asked Natalie to remain quiet in the observation room and to do just that – observe. Castle joined her.

"Wow look at her . . . she's incredible . . . she never loses eye contact . . . and her sense of dramatic timing . . . I don't know if I'll ever master her," whispered Natalie.

"That's what I love about her . . . that's why she inspired Nikki Heat . . . it's also what makes her such a great detective, she invests in the victim," replied Castle, "Oh, by the way, I don't think you caught it, I'm Richard Castle, I wrote the book," he concluded, expecting a little more reaction than previously. Natalie shrugged. "You have read the book, haven't you?" he pried.

She admitted that she hadn't. She understood the screen and script writers had made some changes and she wanted to stick to those for the time being. Castle mentally moved her up two more notches on his scale of disapproval. What kind of changes, he wondered out loud?

When there was a break in the action, Natalie spoke with Kate. She explained that she was very 'method' in preparing for a part. Which of the various philosophies she adhered to in method acting was not mentioned; but one thing was certain, Natalie would be shadowing Kate as closely as possible. She would, by every means conceivable, try to place herself inside Kate's head as well as her shoes. It was a wonder she hadn't asked to spend a night or two at Kate's apartment. She was amazed at how Kate held her own so well in the testosterone saturated environment of the trade. Natalie had already picked up on several of Kate's mannerisms; and had noted that the three-inch spike heels she always wore made her as tall, if not taller than most of the team members. Kate replied she hadn't consciously selected them for that reason; she just liked wearing them. Natalie wondered how she was going to be able to run in a pair like Kate's, at least convincingly.

"When I'm through, I'll do you better than you," she had concluded.

Kate looked worried.

CSU had completed its report from their sweep of the victim's office. Ryan and Esposito had been there part of the time to assist and get a statement from the victim's administrative person. Only one thing unusual had popped. The victim and her boyfriend had a pretty heated argument about something – so much so it could be a possible motive. They had him brought in for questioning. This time both Castle and Natalie were allowed in for the session. After the interrogation, Natalie was entering a number of Kate's phrases on the notepad in her cell phone.

"I've just got to work these into the dialog somewhere," she grinned as she typed.

She treated the words like recently found gold. Castle had suggested some alternates, which to him, were more like Nikki Heat but nothing doing. Natalie paid no attention; she was focused on Kate Beckett. Meanwhile, CSU had found a small key, like the kind that might open a control box or other commercial item, hidden carefully on the runner of the suspended ceiling in the vic's office. Kate, Castle, and Natalie made their way to the scene to see what that key might open. After some searching, it was found to belong to the access door in the rear of an antique Wurlitzer juke box the vic had as decoration in her office. When they opened the door, they found a large, very exclusive, and very expensive, designer tote bag. Inside they found about two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in cash.

"Now we know what someone was looking for, and why they might have murdered the woman," Kate concluded.

When they returned to the precinct Natalie removed her overcoat, scarf, sunglasses, and beret and passed them off to Castle.

"Need to take off the disguise," she said, "it keeps people from stopping me on the street so much."

"So that really works," questioned Castle.

"It works in LA," Natalie replied, "what about you?"

"With him it doesn't come up so much," Kate quipped.

Castle rolled his eyes. He had been relegated to coat rack and mostly insignificant office accessory and he was not enjoying the role.

"You know, if you find the owner of that bag, you might find out who's money it is," offered Natalie.

"How in the world do you expect to find that out," exclaimed Kate, "the material is the kind we can't take fingerprints from."

"That's a six-thousand-dollar bag; the purchaser registers it with the factory in case it ever gets lost or stolen," replied Natalie.

"What idiot would pay six thousand dollars for a bag?"

"Oh, I have a whole set; there's an ID number on the bottom."

The embarrassed Kate Beckett decided to check with the manufacturer. A factory representative, with a thick German accent, had given them the owner's name after he had been made to understand the NYPD needed it in a murder investigation.

"You know, you might have just cracked this case wide open," Kate said, feeding Natalie's ego.

Natalie just beamed.

The next day was more of the same except Natalie had bumped her performance of Nikki Heat and Kate Beckett up a notch. They continued with the police procedure with Natalie loving every minute of it. Castle arrived with the customary two coffees but before Kate could take hers, Natalie swooped in and thanked Castle for bringing one. And to add insult to injury, Natalie began to imitate, with great precision and excellent timing, Kate's expressions of exasperation as well as her unconscious movements and mannerisms while she stood at the murder board. After about an hour of that Kate pulled Castle aside to the break room for a word.

"What is she doing? . . . She's creeping me out . . . it feels like she's in my head, I mean, what's next? . . . it's like she's gonna steal my soul or something," Kate complained in a whisper.

"Well, this wasn't my idea . . . I'm sure she's just trying to do a good job for the part," replied Castle, somewhat uncertain as to what would be a comforting statement, but also amused that the whole thing was throwing Kate into a tizzy.

The Kate, Castle, and Natalie triangle wasn't the only drama in the precinct that morning. Suddenly the background noise in the office was broken by the voice of a very emotional Jenny O'Malley.

"I hate you Kevin Ryan . . . you lied to me," she exclaimed as she stormed toward the elevator.

The truth was that Ryan had needed an alibi for some important matters pertaining to his planned marriage proposal to Jenny. He had told her that he had been playing darts with Esposito the other night. What he had really done was sneak over to Jenny's parents' house to ask the father that age old and very difficult question regarding the daughter's hand in marriage. The trouble was, he had forgotten to tell Esposito. When Jenny had dropped by the precinct with Kevin's cell phone, which he had left behind, she had casually asked Esposito how the match went the other night. The 'what match?' answer wasn't the one she had been expecting.

"Man, now what am I going to do," Kevin lamented after she had stormed out, "Jenny knows Natalie Rhodes is on my fantasy five list, and she also knows Natalie's here in town . . . and now she thinks I'm . . . I've been . . .," he mumbled as he left to try to track her down.

"Fantasy five list," Kate inquired with a knowing look. "Don't go there," both Castle and Esposito quipped in near unison.

Having overheard the exchange Natalie wondered out loud as to what place she might have been on that list. Beckett wished she hadn't gone there.

After lunch hour concluded, a delivery man found his way to the 4th floor in search of Natalie Rhodes. He had a couple of boxes for her, which needed record of receipt. Natalie appeared to be very happy that the items had arrived so quickly. She signed for them and made her way down the hall to the woman's room with a box under each arm. Since Natalie had usurped Castle's chair by the desk, Kate had put him in one of the multi-purpose rooms to help track the possible flow of the money somehow involved in the murder investigation. The real Kate had just entered to talk to Richard when, about fifteen seconds later, a second Kate, as Nikki Heat, appeared in the doorway. Castle looked up again when he heard another voice. His mouth dropped open. He just sat there frozen and gawking.

"It's just like I imagined her . . . Oh, did I just say that out loud," he gushed as he stared at the second Kate.

Natalie had purchased an outfit nearly identical to Kate's wardrobe, but the real kicker was the brunette wig she was now sporting, with the exact same length hair as Kate's. Maybe the casting director had been right after all. With the blonde hair gone, only Natalie's forehead and nose where different than Kate's. The two women were only about a half an inch different in height. Natalie had a slightly larger bust size. A little more work from a theatrical make up department would complete the transition. From behind, one couldn't tell the difference. One of the uniforms delivered a folder with hardcopy evidence photos. Nikki Heat took it from her.

"Thanks Velazquez," she said, as she quickly read her name tag.

"That would be Clara," snipped Kate, grabbing the folder, "and you're not me.", she added, while keeping a side glance on Richard.

"No, but I'm getting warmer," Natalie countered also casting a seductive look at Castle.

Kate was trying to read his mind by reading his face. She was seriously wondering which version of her he liked more. This whole thing had somehow gone over the top. Richard was on a fantasy trip while it was Kate who was in a serious tizzy. She gave the folder to Richard with instructions to drop it by Ryan's desk; and then to go check on something Dr. Parish had for them. She reasoned that perhaps the morgue would be the right venue in which to place Nikki Heat for the rest of the afternoon. When they had gone Kate leaned forward and put both hands on the table. She began to think that if there had ever been a B-movie theme that described her situation it would have been _Invasion of the Body Snatchers_. Kate gave voice to her feelings:

"First, she steals my soul, now she's gonna steal my boyfriend, and next she's gonna kill me in my sleep!"

She looked down at her hands, which were spread open on the tabletop. I just admitted to the world that Richard Castle, that annoying writer, is _my_ boyfriend, she said to herself. Well, what of it? She concluded as she left the room.

Apparently, the conversation at Ryan's desk went on for quite a while. Between Jenny and Natalie, there would have been plenty to talk about; and maybe even a little something about the case. Natalie had planned on leaving for the evening after the visit to the morgue. She got Richard to carry the box still containing another Nikki Heat outfit for her. As they made their way slowly toward the elevator Richard asked her:

"Is it true that you spent a week in a crawl space to prepare for a movie part?"

"Well, it was actually a whole month, but I told the tabloids a week in the interview so as not to sound extreme," she replied. "By the way, I read _Heat Wave_ last night," she began, "now I see what you mean about Nikki Heat . . . you really captured Kate Beckett in that character . . . and you . . . you're Jameson Rook, the journalist . . . aren't you?"

Meanwhile, Kate was heading back toward her desk and saw the two of them standing at the elevator. She kept her eyes on them. When the doors opened, Natalie made an interesting proposition.

"You know, since you're the creator of this whole story, I'd like to do a little more research on the feelings between the two . . . Jameson Rook and Nikki Heat," she began smoothly.

By this time, they were standing in the elevator, waiting for the doors to close.

"You know, to feel the real _heat_ so to speak," she continued as she backed Castle up against the wall and planted a passionate kiss on him.

Castle dropped the box he was holding; Kate's jaw dropped in shock. The elevator doors closed and that was the last either one of them was seen for the evening. At quitting time, Kate found her way home and passed the evening with three glasses of wine and a horrible mental picture of Castle and 'deep fried Twinkies'.

The next morning Castle appeared earlier than usual. He had the customary two coffees. Kate gladly received her special brew. She didn't ask questions. She sat at her desk, grabbed the mirror from her purse and touched up her lipstick a little thicker than usual. Then she took a long slow sip of the coffee, thus leaving a conspicuous print on the white plastic cover.

A little while later, Nikki Heat appeared and began her rehearsal in front of the murder board. Kate had been elsewhere when she arrived. As Kate returned to her desk and sat down, Natalie interrupted her character practice and wanted some further clarification.

"You know, I talked to Richard Castle last night," she began.

"Uh huh," Kate replied, taking a long sip on her coffee in order to make sure Natalie noticed the absence of one for herself.

Natalie wasn't fazed by it, but she did look perplexed. ". . . so, is Castle gay," she inquired of Kate, seemingly out of nowhere.

The coffee going down Kate's throat combined explosively with the gasp trying to exit her lungs. Coffee went everywhere!

"What?!" Kate gasped, as she grabbed a wad of napkins to begin mopping up the mess, "No, no, I'm pretty sure he's not gay," Kate managed to reply after she caught her breath.

"Well, last night I invited him back to my place and he said something I've never heard from a man before . . . when I asked him if we could sleep together, you know what he said? . . . No! So then, what's the deal . . . you two are an item, but you're sworn to secrecy, right," Natalie theorized.

"No, we're not an item, why," Kate replied with a question.

"Then I don't get it. He's into you but you're determined not to give in to these feelings that you clearly have for him, so he fantasizes about you through his writing . . ."

"So, what's this got to do with me," Kate puzzled out loud.

"I am not wearing this get up for my health. You're Nikki Heat. He's Jameson Rook and I need to sleep with him in the name of character research. Can you talk to him?", Natalie explained as she pinched the shoulders of her blouse to call attention specifically to the wardrobe.

"And say what?"

"I don't know . . . could you just give him permission or something," Natalie concluded, oblivious to the commotion she had just caused.

"You know, I have to go . . . over there," Kate said as she got up and headed toward the woman's room to clean herself up. When Lanie gets wind of this, I'm never going to hear the end of it Kate thought to herself.

Castle couldn't deny it. He had tried hard to hate Natalie Rhodes as Nikki Heat, but she had become Nikki Heat. He was beginning to like the finished product. A the murder case dragged on, Ms. Rhodes was also picking up not only on Kate's verbal patterns, but on the police precinct lingo in general. She had learned what the difference was between a person of interest and a true suspect. She became familiar with the term 'alibi out'; and the line of questioning to use when testing a probable motive. She liked playing cop almost as much as Castle did. She studied in great detail how Kate interacted with her homicide team.

A little later in the day, Kate and Richard observed the continuing performance from the safe distance of one of the multi-purpose rooms across the way. Kate looked over her shoulder at Richard.

"Do I really do that," Kate asked referring to some hand motions Natalie was making.

"Yes, and it's adorable," Castle replied with a smirk.

"If it's so adorable, why didn't you sleep with me? - Her-me; not me-me," Kate pried.

"What?" cried Castle, "I mean, sleep with someone who looks like Nikki Heat, who I made up in a story? . . . that's way too meta," he concluded.

Kate changed the subject. They were joined by Ryan and Esposito who wanted to know why the others had collected in that particular room. Everyone agreed that they were temporarily hiding from the creepy Beckett just to maintain their collective sanity.

"Maybe we should have some kind of code word to use, so we know which Beckett to kill when the clone army attacks," offered Ryan.

Nikki Heat, in the form of the creepy Kate Beckett, was still practicing moves to make at a murder scene. They finally located the owner of the expensive tote bag. A very wealthy Tonya Wellington, who arrived at the precinct with an army of four lawyers. Natalie got to see firsthand how a very non-cooperative interview went.

Another angle was the private eye and his assistant the matchmaker had used to perform background checks. It was their only hope since the angry boyfriend had alibied out. At first everything looked legitimate, but a day later when nasty blackmail photos had turned up involving one of the high-powered couples, the PI's office had been cleaned out and the two had vanished. Something was up. The PI's assistant appeared in the pictures as the one having an affair with one of the husbands. Then it turned out to be more than one. Someone was following the relationships that the matchmaker had introduced, found out the terms of prenuptial agreements, and honey trapped the men who had to make big payouts to their wives if infidelity had been found on their part. Somebody was splitting that money. They got Greta, the PI's assistant, after someone at the Beaumont Hotel said she was staying there. Greta finally came clean on the plan she and the matchmaker had put together to get some of the wives out of horrible marriages that had been arranged for them; and collect some money in the process. No one had ever mentioned it directly, but it had been strongly inferred that Ms. Wellington had paid a sum of money to get out of hers. Mr. Wellington had alibied out. Who else was involved? Greta was hesitant to reveal any more names. To everyone's surprise, Natalie Rhodes as Nikki Heat slammed her fist down on the table in the interrogation room and said:

"The names Greta . . . Now!"

It worked. Mr. Scott Donner had already been interviewed once, but there was reason to question him again. It appeared that he had left the party as he said, but the part he didn't recount was that he left the house again about an hour later to meet his cousin for something; only the cousin didn't remember anything of the sort. It would have put him in the timeframe of the murder. Kate, Richard, and Natalie went to visit him at his office. When they cornered him into confessing the deed, he reached for a gun in his desk and held it to his throat. The scene was life imitating art, just like the one written for Ms. Rhodes. She jumped into character and used the line Castle had hated so much. Again, to everyone's surprise, it worked. Kate subdued Mr. Donner and brought him in. Maybe that line wasn't so much of a hack after all Castle thought to himself. He had new respect for Natalie Rhodes.

It was getting late in the day as they were filing the reports necessary for case closure. Ms. Rhodes had been happy to work with Kate and the NYPD, even though she was still sorry that she hadn't been able to do her additional research with Richard Castle. As she packed up her things and said her goodbyes, she asked Richard to be sure to visit her on the set if he happened to travel to LA.

"Wouldn't miss it," he said with his typical, Castle the teenager, grin.

Not long after she had left, Jenny O'Malley arrived in search of Kevin Ryan. They had made up. The grandiose plans Kevin had made were cancelled, but he used the moment. He shooed Esposito away from his area, told Jenny to wait just a moment, and pulled the ring out of the drawer in his desk. He made the proposal, on bended knee, right then and there. Everyone couldn't help but look on from a polite distance. After she said 'Yes' the place erupted in applause. Kate was really moved and Castle took note.

"That was huge!" he exclaimed in support of Kevin.

"And intimate,", gushed Kate, in a quavering voice, clearly emotional.

If she had somehow mentally put herself in that scene with Richard, nobody was ever going to find out.


	14. Chapter 14

_A/N: I hope you enjoy the less choppy, plot-line tweaked, and somewhat improved version. We stay in the Castle Universe_ _with a telling of the dirty little secrets behind Joanna Beckett's murder over 13 years prior with the things surrounding Season 3, episode 24. It's hard to compress the necessary details . . .and what about that kiss? Any thoughts dear reader?_

 _Disclaimer: I do not own Castle – all credit goes to Andrew Marlow and the writing team for ABC's Castle; my thanks to them for providing a foundation for this little exercise._

14

It was now early December, but the weather continued to be unusually mild for the time of year. Some individuals, each for their own reasons, had unintentionally put things in play that would change Kate and Richard's lives as well as the balance of power in the precinct. The weather was certainly milder than the history of the NYPD, which lead up to those events. Somewhere along the way, during the first year of his partnership with Kate and the NYPD, Castle had done a little research on the history of New York's finest. Here's how some of his notes read:

If one were to reason that the NYPD was a well thought out concept that just somehow came into being in an orderly way; and grew in size with the population of NYC, they would be dead wrong. The beginnings of a police force that would eventually become the NYPD came into being in the middle of a civil war. Not the Civil War, or the War Between the States, but rather some twenty years earlier than that war ended. As early as 1844, the mayor and the common council proposed a police force, but no one could agree on who would direct it. Finally, by May of 1845, a functioning police force began operating. It replaced the old night watch system the city had inherited from the way things had been done in Europe. They had their work cut out for them; the city population was well over three hundred thousand at the time. By 1853, the force was directed more or less in military style and had been modelled closely after the Metropolitan Police Service, which had been established in London. The navy-blue uniform was introduced that year also. The fun began in 1857. The State of New York legislature was at odds with NYC. Republican reformers in the state capital, Albany, created a new Metropolitan police force and abolished the Municipal police, as part of their effort to rein in the Democratically controlled New York City government. The Metropolitan police bill consolidated the police in New York, Brooklyn, Staten Island, and Westchester County (which then included The Bronx), under a governor-appointed board of commissioners. Unwilling to be abolished, New York City Mayor Fernando Wood and the Municipals resisted for several months, during which time the city effectively had two police forces, and a civil war of sorts. Criminals had a hey-day during the mayhem that ensued. Finally, the force set up by the state prevailed and NYC had a stable police department.

Since the NYPD was not an autonomous body, external forces on the political side, could shape and influence it; not to mention the introduction of corrupting elements. Politics and economics played huge roles in what the force would become. Prohibition era laws and politics gave rise to corruption on a grand scale; and provided opportunity for mere gangsters to upgrade to organized crime. That recipe was allowed to cook slowly for some forty years before the Becketts ever became a family. By 1970 things had reached a critical point. The Knapp Commission had been appointed to investigate corruption on all levels and heard testimony from numerous individuals who had come up through the ranks. The Commission came up with a couple of interesting terms.

Their final report, issued toward the end of 1972, spoke of 'grass eaters' and 'meat eaters' when describing one mechanism for the spread of corruption within the department. The Commission described grass eaters as cops under peer pressure who chose to participate in collecting gratuities and payment favors from various people in shady businesses. New cops learned the practice from veteran cops who had been at it a long time. One solution was to remove those who practiced it in the hopes that rookies would never learn the bad habit. What determined Kate Beckett's choices in life were choices three young rookies made long before her time. John Raglan and Gary McAllister had fallen in with some of the meat eaters. Roy Montgomery got pulled in somewhat later. The Commission described meat eaters as: officers who spent a good deal of time aggressively looking for situations they could exploit for financial gain. Shaking down pimps and illicit drug dealers for money, not only for the material profit to the themselves, but for the relief from guilt that the officers derived by convincing themselves that their victims were just crooks; they deserved the treatment they got. While some of the meat eaters were happy with hamburger, others had graduated to prime rib. They had a taste for the big money; and the source of it could be found by 'arresting' mobsters and other individuals within the mafia. These so-called arrests had no grounds; they were nothing more than kidnappings with the target being held for ransom. Since the mafia families didn't want exposure, and could afford to pay, that's what they did. It was a treacherous tightrope to walk. Paybacks from the mafia were nearly inevitable; and discovery by the wrong people in the NYPD meant prosecution for abuse of authority. But that proved to be only two thirds of the equation.

The deadly confluence of events finally arrived. Some twenty years before Kate Beckett joined the NYPD, William Bracken was working as the assistant district attorney in Manhattan. He learned of a select group of meat eaters going after the mobsters; but he had no hard evidence trail, so prosecution was out of the question. Well, Bracken became a meat eater himself. He blackmailed the officers and used the ransom money to fund his political career and the scam worked until an undercover FBI agent was accidentally killed during the attempted abduction of mobster Joe Pulgatti. Pulgatti was able to escape alive but was arrested for the murder of the FBI agent. Bracken wisely shut down the scam, but by that time, the big money Ragland, McAllister, and Montgomery had collected ended up in some bank account linked to Bracken. Things became even more complicated.

Kate's mother, Joanna Beckett was a civil rights lawyer at the time. She decided to take the case in Joe Pulgatti's defense. Had Mrs. Beckett moved the process forward to a trial, serious and damaging allegations would result. Bracken, in his ambition, and in a move to both cover and distance himself from the corruption, ordered a hit on Mrs. Beckett. Several men, who looked like street thugs, attacked her and her husband one evening as they made their way home together. But it was hired assassin Dick Coonan who left Joanna Beckett lying dead at the scene. Bracken then made sure that officers Raglan and McAllister were assigned to investigate her murder, which they wrote off as a random attack and subsequently turned it into a cold case, thus covering up the conspiracy. Young Kate Beckett was never convinced of the outcome. There had to be more to the story behind it all. Perhaps that was why she was drawn to Richard Castle, the story teller, more than she ever cared to admit.

Kate, true to Richard Castle's initial spin on the story, had decided to become a homicide investigator as a result of that life changing event. She simply never got over it; nor would she until the truth was uncovered. She began well before she had met Richard. While she was still a rookie in uniform, Roy Montgomery had caught her in the records room, looking up data on her mother's cold case. He could have had her reprimanded, but he chose not to. After the situation with Bracken, Ragland, McAllister, and Montgomery laid low and reformed themselves. Montgomery, in particular, promised himself he would make up for the past by becoming the best, straight-up, cop he could be. Ragland had already retired when Kate applied. She didn't suspect them; and they remained silent. The best they could do was protect Kate from Bracken's henchmen. But Kate was talented and tenacious. She kept getting closer uncovering the past; and with Castle's help it was getting uncovered ever faster. Kate thought it was nearly over when they finally caught up with Dick Coonan, her mother's killer. They had him right there in the precinct, heading for the lock-up. But he made a break for it, and Kate herself was forced to shoot him. He died before he could reveal his employer.

John Ragland had enjoyed his retirement, but cancer was slowly catching up to him as was his conscience and unfortunately, it was like Bracken could read that conscience. Bracken had eyes on key people all the time. He had way too much to lose, and he wasn't about to let loose lips sink his political ship. John had approached Kate for a meeting. The hour finally came, and they found themselves seated comfortably in the front of a local coffee shop. Kate had actually stopped by Castle's apartment to get him to come along for the meeting. Bracken hired another assassin to silence Ragland before the cancer did. Hal Lockwood effectively silenced Raglan as Kate and Richard looked on in shock. But rather than back off, Kate switched into a higher gear, further widening the investigation. Now that she knew there was a possible internal connection, she and Richard made that connection between Raglan and McAllister.

Later, Beckett and Castle interviewed McAllister. He admitted that he saw Raglan a week ago and learned his pal was dying. McAllister wanted to know why Raglan would want to meet Beckett when he was retired by the time she joined the NYPD. Kate explained that he was helping her with a cold case and how she believed he was killed by someone wanting to keep him quiet. What was McAllister's pal into some nineteen years ago? McAllister really didn't want to talk. He remarked that Raglan was no angel and that the rules applying to police work these days didn't work back then. Beckett covered her motives and said she was only interested in Raglan's murder. McAllister used his own cover story on how Raglan racked up gambling debts years ago and agreed to work as a courier for notorious drug runner Vulcan Simmons to pay them off. He went on to say how Simmons had lots of people killed and implied that by employing Raglan, he could easily make those murders disappear.

Meanwhile, Hal Lockwood, seeing how fast Kate Beckett was acquiring names and connections decided to perform a little investigation of his own. He knew CSU and Esposito had gone over the room from which he had fired the sniper shot to kill Ragland. He also knew there was now a connection between a woman who had obtained a special calming drug so as to steady his shot. He also knew that Kate's team would be following up on it. He had to split the partners. There were two different women named Jolene; what better way than that? Beckett ordered Esposito and Ryan to find Jolene Anders while she and Castle went to pick up Jolene Granger. As they got into their patrol cars and pulled away from the precinct, they failed to see Lockwood watching them from a nearby car. He pulled out from his parking spot and followed Ryan and Esposito. Kate and Richard found Jolene Granger dead in her apartment while Ryan and Esposito found themselves in an ambush.

Beckett called Ryan and Esposito, who were in the stairwell of Jolene Anders' building, to report her find. They decided to rejoin her and Castle, but before they got far and before Beckett could end the call, Lockwood dropped a flash bomb down the stairwell. Castle and Beckett rushed to their last known location. Later, Beckett had to call Montgomery to confirm that Ryan and Esposito had been kidnapped by Lockwood, who left their cell phones behind. Beckett figured out that it would prevent her from using the phones' GPS tracking software to find them and Castle then realized Jolene Granger's phone went missing, meaning she must have used it to call Lockwood. The ambush had been successful. Later, Ryan and Esposito were somewhere in the city, but it was impossible to tell where since they were stunned for part of the trip and had hoods over their heads just to make sure. As the hoods were removed, they saw Hal Lockwood face to face. He congratulated them on getting closer to him than anyone had before; certainly closer than Kate Beckett was ever going to get. He only needed one thing out of them – just exactly what had their investigations turned up so far; and with that information he could finish his job. Meanwhile some of Lockwood's henchmen began preparing some methods of torture to help the two detectives begin talking. Esposito scanned the room for things other than torture devices. He spotted the high-power sniper rifle, which was the one most likely used to kill Ragland. Lockwood went on to explain a deal that they could tell him what he wanted to know, and he would kill them quickly by shooting them in the head; or he could torture them until they begged for him to shoot them. Ryan and Esposito agreed that they'd rather be tortured than reveal what they knew. The henchmen grabbed Ryan first and dunked him in the ice-cold water, his head held beneath its surface until he was just about to drown. Esposito became furious but could do nothing since he was tightly restrained. Ryan came up, gasped for air, and then exclaimed that they would have to do better than that. He got punishment like that in Catholic school just for talking in class. They put him back under for another round. While they were having this little party, Beckett and Castle, using some backtracking on Jolene's cell phone, got a fix on Lockwood's location.

It was getting near dusk. The evening weather continued to be mild. Kate and Richard had pulled up to within a half a block of the warehouse where they believed Ryan and Esposito were being held captive. They quietly left the patrol car and peered around the corner. Kate spotted a guard standing watch outside one of the roll-up doors. He was hiding a high-powered rifle behind his right leg.

"Were going to have to be real quiet about this," Kate went on, "he could recognize a SWAT team if we called one, and it would be early enough to warn Lockwood . . . and then he'd most likely kill Ryan and Espo."

She looked perplexed. "So, Castle, you got any of your crazy ideas," she asked hopefully.

Richard thought a minute or so. He wanted to think this one out a little better than his meeting with the fake agent in the Spy Ventures case; besides this was much higher stakes.

"Yeah, I do," he finally said, "we're going to become drunken lovers so as to get close enough to take him out."

"Come on Castle . . . that's it?"

"You wanted a crazy idea . . . at least you're not wearing a police uniform. Okay . . . you ready? . . . it's show time!"

They came around the corner arm in arm, giggling and generally holding on to one another like a couple of drunken lovers. They knew how to act the part. They had each done it before; just not with each other. They stumbled in the guard's direction. They were hard to miss. The guard eyed them suspiciously and began walking towards them, rifle still held down behind his leg. He was getting almost too close for comfort.

"He's not going for it," Kate whispered nervously, as she began to reach for her service pistol.

Suddenly Richard swiped her hand back to her side, then firmly grabbed her face in his hands and drew her close for a good, long kiss. She almost fell backwards as she pulled back to break it off, but then remembered they were being watched. But that was not all . . . she took yet another moment to look directly into Richard's eyes. Why had she never done this before with him? She drew herself back towards him and kissed him passionately. She knew the guard was still watching. She upped the act but somewhere in the moment it ceased to be an act to distract some guard at a warehouse. She ran her hands down his neck and onto his back. She pulled him tighter to herself. They barely maintained balance. He did the same with her. It felt so good to be with him. Then she remembered the guard! The guard had seen enough to judge them harmless to his mission. He began to chuckle as he turned and headed back to his post. Kate pinched Richard's hand to remind him the scene was over, broke away from his embrace and hit the guard from behind, knocking him unconscious.

"Wow! . . . That was amazing," Castle panted.

"Castle - are you with me on this?", Kate questioned with a worried look, as she motioned toward the guard.

"I mean . . . the take down . . . it was amazing how you did that," he said, revising his statement.

They took a few seconds to get their heads back on straight and then made for the warehouse after relieving the guard of his rifle. Meanwhile, inside, Lockwood and his men were about to up the degree of torture. Kate took aim at the first one who was about to shoot out Ryan's kneecap. The henchman slumped forward. Everyone dove for position. Kate took out the second man. The third one and Lockwood took cover. More shots rang out. The third man fell. Kate was out of ammunition. Castle followed Lockwood. Kate was pulling a new magazine into place. Lockwood picked up the sniper rifle and aimed it at Kate. Castle saw him reach for the safety . . . just before he could pull the trigger, Castle lunged toward him full speed and knocked him to the ground. The rifle went spinning free. Castle fell upon him in a rage, and gave him three fierce, barehanded punches to the face. Lockwood was left unconscious and Richard was left with a bleeding, gouged up hand.

Shortly thereafter the scene filled with special forces NYPD and paramedics. Kate gave them a debrief. Afterwards she found Richard Castle in the back of an ambulance struggling with a bandage that had been applied too tightly to his wounded hand. She climbed in and sat across from him. She looked at him for a moment with great appreciation. She offered to redo the bandage. As she was gently re-wrapping it, she remarked that Ryan and Espo were going to be Okay; that Ryan only had suffered mild hypothermia, and that Espo's pride had been wounded.

"I wonder who's going to heal first," she said, obviously joking with Richard. She looked into his eyes again. "Thanks for backing me up," she said gently, with a tone of voice that he so loved to hear.

"Always," he replied softly.

McAllister eventually found his way to prison, but at least he was still alive. Kate's work got Hal Lockwood sent to prison also, but Kate didn't know the extent of the hidden power. Kate swore she would eventually break Lockwood into confessing his employer's identity. Her visits to the prison to question the two inmates continued every week for nearly four months. Knowing how dangerous Lockwood was, they had arranged to have him kept in special confinement. Bracken became worried that someday someone would talk. He used his influence to have Lockwood released from special confinement and placed with the general prison population where he could easily encounter McAllister. Kate and the NYPD found out too late. McAllister had been killed in his prison cell.

The strong unseen hand of Bracken manifested itself in even greater ways. Lockwood had to appear at a hearing for the murder of McAllister while in prison. On the surface everything looked like it was under control. Proper security appeared to be in place. Without a doubt Kate Beckett was on hand.

"Whoever hired you, he can't hide from me," Kate said as she marched up and confronted him.

"No sweetheart. You got it ass-backwards. You can't hide from him," Lockwood smugly replied.

Kate looked around the courtroom as the hearing was about to begin. Three additional officers in what appeared to NYPD uniforms had entered, but something was amiss. The regalia had chrome accents, not the customary brass. Before she could raise an alarm, Lockwood gave a hand signal and one of the officers tossed a smoke canister into the room. Mayhem ensued. Through the smoke she could discern men, brandishing guns, leading Lockwood out on an escape route. When she reached the main hallway, she found Lockwood's leg-irons in the middle of the floor. She burst outside just in time to see Lockwood boarding a helicopter and the other accomplices making a run for it in a car. She emptied her magazine shooting at the helicopter, but to no avail. Lockwood had escaped.

After some searching at local airports, the chopper turned up at one in New Jersey. No one would have even missed it except for the bullet holes in the fuselage courtesy of Kate Beckett's service piece. She put everyone she could lay her hands on to work on the case. That night Richard Castle returned home to the loft worried and spent. His evening was not over. He answered the door buzzer only to find Kate's father, Jim Beckett wanting to talk to him. He had heard from Kate a number of additional things about Richard Castle. He quizzed Castle about the assassins, especially Hal Lockwood.

"What happens when she finds him? I've already lost my wife over this. I've already lost . . . it took me years, but I've made my peace with that, but Katie? She won't listen to me and she won't back down, not unless someone can convince her that her life is worth more than her mother's death. She cares about you, Rick. And unless you're a lot dumber than you look I know you care about her. Don't let her throw her life away."

Castle remembered the kiss outside the warehouse. He remembered his rage against someone trying to kill Kate inside the warehouse. He would do what he could.

The next day was consumed by the heat of the investigations. It went by all too quickly. Kate was not about to stop. She grabbed a stack of folders on the case and headed home. Meanwhile Castle and the rest of the team, including Captain Montgomery put together what they had found regarding Lockwood's mysterious transfer in the prison and how the escape had gone down. Castle used the developments as an excuse to visit Kate. He dropped by her apartment.

"I've got some more developments I wanted to share with you," he began.

"I'm sure you do but couldn't you have just given me a call?", she reasoned back to him.

"Yeah, but I really wanted to see how you were doing . . . I mean this case must be getting to you . . . I never realized how you've had to live with this. Is there any way you can stop? You know he's got to be coming for you next."

"Castle, they killed my mother. What do you want me to do here?" she questioned him sharply.

"Walk away. They're gonna kill you, Kate! And if you don't care about that…at least think about how that's gonna affect the people that love you. You really wanna put your Dad through that? What about Josh?" he countered, trying his best to get her to see reason, or at least his point of view.

"And what about you, Rick?" she asked, using the abbreviated form of his name, which she seldom did.

"Of course, I don't want anything to happen to you. I'm your partner. I'm your friend.", he gave the politically correct reply, not even sure himself of why it came out that way.

"Is that what we are?" she asked as she looked at him sternly, as if expecting something a bit more personal.

"You know I don't know what we are. We kiss and then we never talk about it. We nearly die frozen in each other's arms, but we never talk about it, so, no, I've got no clue what we are. I just know that I don't want to see you throw your life away," he replied in an exasperated tone.

"Yeah well, last time I checked it was my life, not your personal jungle gym. And for the past three years, I have been running around with the school's funniest kid and it's not enough," she spat back, trying and failing to evoke a more direct response as to his true feelings. She realized that she wasn't going about it right.

"You know what? This isn't about your mother's case anymore. This is about you needing a place to hide because you've been chasing this thing so long, you're afraid to find out who you are without it," he huffed.

"You don't know me, Castle! You think you do, but you don't," she exclaimed, like it was a given fact that no one could ever get to know her.

"I'll tell you what I know . . . first, that you don't want me to know you deeply for some reason; and second, I know you crawled inside your mother's murder and didn't come out. I know you hide there; same way you hide in these nowhere relationships with men you don't love. You could be happy, Kate. You deserve to be happy, but you're afraid," he countered with all his inner thoughts now exposed.

"You know what we are, Castle? We are over. Now get out!"

He left in anger. He both loved and hated it when Kate Beckett got on a mission. He drove back to the loft, taking a long way home just to stay in the isolation of the car for a while. It was getting rather late when he arrived and took a seat in his office. He had brought a full tumbler of scotch with him. He sipped it at first. He felt it go down, calming him somewhat. But the calming effect didn't last long. He took another very long drink while staring blankly at the poster of the cover art for the next book in the Nikki Heat series, _Heat Rises_ ; as did his temper along with the extreme frustration of wanting to love the complex and stubborn woman named Kate Beckett. He hurled the tumbler at the poster. The resulting crash brought Martha downstairs almost immediately. When she saw what had happened she said:

"There's only one person on the planet that can get you this pissed off."

"I'm sorry, just go back to bed, I'll get over it . . . it's just . . . that if anything happens to her, it would . . .," he tried to continue, but fell silent.

"Go on", she said, while waiting patiently. Nothing else appeared to be forthcoming. "Oh, Richard, Richard. For a man who makes his living with words, you sure have a helluva time finding them when it counts. Darling, let me give you a word of advice . . . from someone who's better than half way through the movie. Don't waste another minute of it," she effused, getting the load off her chest in her son's behalf.

The next morning at the precinct, Kate found her way into Captain Montgomery's office.

"I want Richard Castle off the case . . . actually I don't want him to return to the precinct," she stated without so much as an introduction or a good morning, because for her, the morning wasn't.

Montgomery just looked at her for a moment. "Okay, if that's your take on it . . . consider it done . . . but you should know something detective. I coulda kicked Castle to the curb years ago anytime I wanted to. Only reason I kept him around so long is 'cause I saw how good he was for you."

The words pricked her insides somehow. She stood there staring at her feet, scared to lift her eyes toward his.

"Kate, you're the best that I've ever trained, maybe the best I've ever seen, but you weren't having any fun before he came along. We speak for the dead. That's the job. We are all they've got once the wicked rob them of their voices. We owe them that, but we don't owe them our lives," he continued in his authoritative, yet kind manner, and yet a variation on the theme Lieutenant Whitefield had talked about.

"Castle said we can't win this," Kate almost whispered.

"He's right. I've spent most of my life walking behind this badge and I can tell you this for a fact, there are no victories. There's only the battle. And the best that you can hope for is that you find some place where you can make your stand. If this is your spot, I will stand with you," he concluded.

The time for Captain Roy Montgomery had run out. He returned home that evening after a hard day on the case. His wife and children weren't there yet. He walked through the house. He looked at the pictures of the family as they had grown. He picked up the teddy bear on his youngest daughter's bed. He heard a noise from the hallway. As he turned, he met the look of Hal Lockwood.

"Oh, your family is safe . . . I'm not going to touch them. But, my boss is very upset that you haven't been keeping your end of the bargain. So, it's time you turned Detective Beckett over to me. Meet me at the same hangar, where you found the helicopter, tomorrow night. She had better be with you," he commanded.

"There's no way I'm going to turn her over," Montgomery countered.

"It's up to you then . . . either you show up with Kate Beckett or your family will pay for your sins as well as Raglan's and McAllister's," Lockwood replied harshly.

The next morning, Roy Montgomery said an extra-long goodbye to his wife and children as they made their way off to school and work. After they had gone he loaded his service revolver, and a small Derringer pistol. Then he made two phone calls: one to Richard Castle, and the other to Kate Beckett. It was just past dusk when the appointed meeting took place. Kate arrived, and seeing no one, called out:

"Captain Montgomery are you there?"

The captain stepped out of deep shadows. He went on to explain what had happened that fateful night when the FBI agent got shot. He had fired his gun. He was the third cop. A text to Kate's phone from Esposito appeared during the conversation, confirmed his confession. The captain continued:

"I put it all into the job, Kate, I became the best cop I could be. And then when you walked into the 12th, I felt the hand of God was upon me. I knew He was giving me another chance and I thought if I could protect you the way I should have protected her . . ."

Kate could hardly grasp the scope of it all. Was he trying to save her or do away with her?

"Give me a name. You owe me, that, Roy.", she demanded, feeling that if she had to die, she might as well know the whole truth before the end.

"No, Kate, If I give you a name, I know you. You'll run straight at him. I might as well shoot you where you stand.", he stated flatly.

"That's why you brought me here, isn't it? To kill me," she postulated.

"No, I brought you here to lure them," he said as he cast his gaze toward the far end of the airport tarmac.

A car was heading toward the hangar.

"Captain, please, just listen to me. You don't have to do this," Kate pleaded.

"Kate!"

A voice came from another corner of the hangar, which she recognized as Castle's. He was now coming toward the two of them.

"No, please, no. Sir, I forgive you. I forgive you," Kate sobbed as she realized the plan.

"This is my spot, Kate. This is where I stand," he said as Castle grappled with her and began dragging her out the back of the hangar.

Richard Castle was miserable. He certainly did not want Kate to die, but he didn't want Roy Montgomery to have to pay the way he did. Numerous shots rang out from the hangar as Richard held Kate tightly in a full nelson grip. She was crying uncontrollably. Hal Lockwood had shown up with three new henchmen. Lockwood, seeing Montgomery without Kate, reminded him that he could not hide her from them. He corrected their thinking saying that it was them who could not hide from him. Montgomery emptied his gun on the three henchmen. Lockwood took cover. From his vantage point, he shot Montgomery in the abdomen. He did it on purpose to cause Montgomery to meet his death slowly. As Lockwood leaned over him on the ground to restate his case, Montgomery pulled the Derringer and put the last two shots into Lockwood's chest. As the smoke finally cleared, there were five dead bodies on the floor of the hangar. Richard Castle finally let Kate go. She ran back into the hangar. She spent many minutes crying over Captain Montgomery's lifeless body while Castle almost wished he had died too. It all had unfolded according to plan, but it was a story he would never want to write.

The captain had died in the line of duty. Kate's homicide team did not reveal the dirty backdrop on the case. They kept it to themselves, so he would forever be known as a hero, figuring they owed him that much. The funeral, with full police honors, took place on a beautiful morning in late April. Numerous members of the homicide teams shared the duties and the eulogy. Richard, Martha, Alexis, Lanie, and Jim Beckett joined Montgomery's family in mourning. Evelyn Montgomery barely held it together. When she received her husband's folded American flag, which had been draped over his casket, she broke down completely. Kate Beckett was one of the last to speak. She told the assembly that Montgomery had been the person who taught her what it really meant to be a cop. She quoted one his last exchanges with her about there being no victories, only battles; and that all the best any cop could hope for was to find somewhere to make a stand; and if one was fortunate, they'd have someone to stand with them. Kate let her gaze rest on Richard Castle as she said it. As she continued her speech, the distant crack of a gunshot reached their ears. Kate slumped over in pain. Castle figured that Hal Lockwood had already been replaced. He dove for Kate and pulled her to the ground. Civilians in the assembly also hit the ground. Uniformed cops scrambled in every direction, looking for the shooter. All Richard Castle could offer Kate at that moment was hope.

"Don't leave me Kate . . . I love you . . . Please don't leave me . . . I do love you.", he sobbed as she became unconscious.


	15. Chapter 15

_A/N: I hope you enjoy the less choppy, plot-line tweaked, and somewhat improved version. We stay in the Castle Universe_ _with a narrative that combines numerous pieces in Season 4 and ends with a cut from episode 20. DMB continues to show up as the proverbial bad penny – at least for a while. Kate and Richard find out that cover-ups and conspiracy can work both ways._

 _Disclaimer: I do not own Castle – all credit goes to Andrew Marlow and the writing team for ABC's Castle; my thanks to them for providing a foundation for this little exercise._

15

Kate Beckett almost died. In fact, for a minute and a half, she had no heartbeat near the end of her complicated and lengthy surgical procedure. She had been shot by a sniper's bullet; the assassination attempt that those with knowledge of events surrounding her mother's murder knew would come. The trip to the hospital had been a swirl of confusion; nevertheless, she had felt everything, heard everything, and remembered everything right up to the point where the anesthesiologist had put her under for the operation to save her very life. The expression in Castle's voice sounded like he wanted to die with her. Lanie had been with her right up to the point where they entered the emergency operating room imploring her to stay with the world of the living; "Don't you die on me" were her heartfelt orders. Then the constant chatter of the paramedics regarding her condition and vital signs. There she was, the thirty-one-year-old female who might not live past that point in her life; and then, of all places for a surgeon to be on duty, there was another familiar voice, Josh Davidson. Her life-threatening injury was not his specialty; but it appeared he would begin the procedure until the assigned specialist showed up and with that she faded out.

She finally awoke and found herself in the critical care section of the hospital in the shared ward. Other patients were there but the beds closest to hers were not occupied. By some miracle she had survived a bullet to the chest, the deadly object having just missed her heart. She slowly took in the brightly lit surroundings. Her chest had a dull throbbing pain; she felt like she had just spent a bad night somewhere. Her father's blurry face came into view; finally coming into complete focus. He wore an expression of desperate worry, which began to soften somewhat as he watched his only daughter return to consciousness. He further relaxed when he saw that she could move her body and could talk coherently. What she and Josh did not know until later was that if the specialist had not found the hidden spot where she was bleeding internally it would have been the end. She was glad to be alive, glad to see her father, glad to know that everything might turn out all right. Slowly she began to recall the events leading up to her ordeal. Her mother gone, her police academy trainers gone, Montgomery gone; his funeral, and her near demise; her very future uncertain. Somewhere in the conversations she learned Josh and Castle had exchanged bitter words over her situation and it had become clear that Richard really hated Doctor Motorcycle Boy, as he had started referring to him of late. She couldn't handle any more; it was if the jaws of that invisible vice were at work again, where two men were involved again, and she could feel the clamping on her already painfully burdened chest. She was completely exhausted. She sank back on the pillows and tried to sigh a deep breath, but it hurt something fierce to even try to inflate her chest. She decided it was too complicated; she would claim amnesia, refusing the possibility of continuing any in-depth relationship while her mother's real killer, and perhaps her own would be assassin, still walked free. There would be no inner peace until that was solved one way or another. She didn't even tell her own father about her decision.

Without a doubt there were the scores of visits. Josh checked on her every few hours at first; and he would be sure to see her at least twice a day later on when he was assigned to that hospital. There was the immediate homicide team; and dozens of others from the precinct. Lanie of course; almost as often as Josh it seemed; and even Dr. Perlmutter had checked on her. On the second day after she had become strong enough to receive visitors, Richard Castle had finally been allowed to see her. He had hoped that they had come to an understanding with one another. She played the amnesia card. He was visibly crestfallen upon hearing that she remembered nothing after being shot. She asked him for a few days or so before seeing him again. She needed the time to clear her head or, so she had claimed, and he had willingly complied, not knowing what was really transpiring.

The recovery was slow but steady. She had been in excellent physical condition when she had been shot so her youthful body had been able to muster the energy needed for the internal rebuilding. Nevertheless, after nearly four months of doing mostly nothing she wanted to get back to work. She had spent a good portion of that time outside the city at her father's cabin near the Poconos. She had done basically what Richard had done during his last months of the previous summer in the Hamptons. She had cut communications with the men in her life. Josh had taken the silence as Kate's way of signaling that their relationship was over; he had moved in new directions, but Richard was still respectfully awaiting her call. On that August morning when she watched the elevator doors slide open at the 4th floor of the precinct, she was both relieved and somewhat embarrassed when a significant portion of those present immediately recognized her and gave her a standing ovation. The new precinct captain however, appeared to be somewhat annoyed with the disturbance. Kate had returned to familiar faces but a different world. She made her way over to the captain's office after conversing with the members of her former team. Captain Victoria Gates was all business. She knew that Kate would be showing up as soon as the department deemed her ready to resume service.

"Detective Katherine Houghton Beckett," she declared, "your reputation proceeds you."

"Thank you, Ma'am," Kate replied out of respect for the position and the change of gender.

"If my mother shows up, you can call her ma'am, but in my case it's either Captain or Sir," she countered emphatically.

Kate paused, then said "Please call me Kate, Sir."

She was unsure of what would come next as Captain Gates just studied her for a few moments longer.

"Well Sir, I'm reporting for duty," she finally said.

Captain Gates pulled her personnel file from a drawer in the desk.

"I see you were cleared for duty; your psych-evaluation is Okay," she said as she handed Kate her NYPD shield but not her service piece.

"And my gun," Kate asked in some bewilderment.

"Not until you've requalified," the captain stated.

"Yes Sir," replied Kate as she took her leave.

She met Ryan and Esposito in the break room, but they left shortly thereafter as a group and gathered further down the aisle out of sight of the captain's office.

"Can't have my service piece until I've requalified," Kate hissed, "what kind place have I come back to?"

"Kate, it's been four months . . . things aren't the same as with Montgomery . . . she's completely by the book . . . and what's worse is that she was formerly with internal affairs," cautioned Ryan.

"It's not a big deal . . . just go take the range test," added Esposito.

"I thought Castle would have told you all about her," Ryan interjected.

"I haven't talked to him," she replied flatly.

"He didn't even call you," questioned Esposito who was beginning to think this was a repeat of the summer in the Hamptons.

"No, I told him I needed time. I haven't called him yet," she added, as she slowly turned to head toward the basement stairs, leaving both of her partners with very puzzled looks.

"Well that's just great," growled Esposito before she took another step.

"Yeah," added Ryan, beginning to share Esposito's sentiments, "You know he was here every day for three full months following up leads on your sniper's attempt."

"Yeah, and the only reason Gates booted him out was because there just wasn't anything left to do . . . the case just went cold. Gates said there was no use wasting NYPD resources on it," Esposito finished. "Maybe you should think about calling him," he added after the fact with the same serious tone he had used with Kate the evening of Castle's poker game.

She looked back at them. Her expression clearly showed inner conflict. She nodded but said nothing else. Then she resumed her mission.

She decided to get the test out of the way sooner rather than later; if not for any other reason but to show Captain Gates that she hadn't lost any abilities during her medical leave of absence. She met the officer on duty and signed out a Glock 9 mm for the practice session. She slid the paper target into place down range and took her position. Bang! She was on target, but the sound was thunderously loud even with the ear muffs in place. She felt a lump form in her throat, followed by a phantom pain on the surface of her chest, right where the bullet scar was located. It wasn't the first time she had felt it. She went on to ignore it and completed the test. She got the officer to sign the target; thus, validating the test for the record. The officer recorded the score, the target serial number, the date and time, and Kate's badge number. After she had signed the practice weapon back in and the empty shells were known to match the slugs recovered from the range, he gave her the signed target to take up to the captain. She climbed the stairs slowly. She recalled her evaluation with the department psychologist when he had asked her directly if she had remembered everything about the shooting. She had lied, even to him, that all she could remember was the beginning of her speech regarding the late Captain Montgomery; after that she found herself in a hospital bed. She began to wonder if that had been such a good idea. She was the completely recovered Kate Beckett she reassured herself. She would find a way to cope.

All of this had come about because one man in particular, and an undisclosed number of others, wanted Kate Beckett dead. There had been five other men on the planet who wanted her to remain alive. The ones seeking her life weren't seeking it merely because she was Kate Beckett. They would act because she just wouldn't stop investigating the murders of others who had already been silenced. If she had just given up those past events as cold cases and had gone on with her own life, they would have been happy to let her live it. But Kate just wasn't programmed that way, but neither were the perpetrators of the mysterious insider scheme programmed for showing any compassion. What Richard Castle had not known at the beginning of his relationship with Kate was that his assistance in solving her mother's murder case, and those of others formerly on the NYPD, was the one thing bringing his girlfriend closer to her death with the discovery of every little clue. The sniper's bullet could have come much earlier; and it just as easily could have come for him; and the only reason it had come at all had to do with a gap in communications.

The communications had to do a packet of incriminating evidence; a bargaining chip in the form of an NYPD file folder that had the power to expose people in high places. Many would suffer serious consequences; others would be caught up in a huge public spectacle and scandal; therefore, the ones who knew what had gone on in the past in order to boost their collective climb to the top of the public power pyramid, monitored the activities of anyone in the enemy camp. Kate, her friends, and some others in highly visible places were part of the enemy camp. The late Captain Montgomery had been a victim of the long standing and mostly invisible war between those camps. His death had put that evidence packet in a state of flux. Kate Beckett had gotten too close; hence, Kate Beckett had to be silenced. But only days after the failed assassination attempt, the bargaining chip had turned up in the hands of someone who had once been associated with, and still knew, plenty of influential people in high places. A new deal had been struck. Now a new stand-off unfolded where the terms remained pretty much as they had before. As long as no one went looking for trouble, nobody had to die.

Montgomery had been one of those men who had wanted Kate Beckett to remain alive, but to accomplish it he had made the deal with the Devil. He also had been quite happy to let things from the past stay buried. He had gotten on with his own life and had started a family. He had kept quiet in order to keep them safe. He had also been in the perfect position to keep Kate Beckett safe. She was young, smart, driven, and had a great future ahead of her in the NYPD and anywhere else she cared to go based on that experience. Montgomery wanted that for her; as did Lieutenant Whitefield in his absence. As her superior officers they could control what cases she took, where to let her have free reign and where to curb her energies. Montgomery had done an excellent job until Castle had arrived in the mix. For a certainty Kevin Ryan and Javier Esposito, the closest male members of her homicide team, loved her in a professional manner. They would do whatever it took to protect her in the line of duty.

As the relationship between Kate Beckett and Richard Castle had become more than her interaction with an outside consultant for the NYPD, his name had slowly become a household word. Hence, Kate's father had met Richard several times, starting with one of the book launch parties. As time passed Jim Beckett noticed that his daughter would at least listen to reason when it came from Richard Castle's mouth, so once again, he had pleaded with Richard to do his best at keeping his dear daughter safe. Castle had promised that he would. September had just begun, and Castle was wondering how to even keep the promise since he didn't know where Kate's activities were taking her. She hadn't called. Apparently, her father was under the impression that the two were still in regular contact. Was she still hidden away or was she just ignoring him? Maybe she was just trying to forget him; he didn't know the reasons. One thing he did know was that life had not been the same since his ouster from the 12th precinct. He looked like a man who had been in his job too long; that faraway look, the one that betrays a mental longing to be somewhere else, doing something else, something way more exciting than the task at hand. The task at hand was a book signing, which followed a reading at one of the local book stores in Manhattan. _Naked Heat_ had been selling well; and Gina wanted to make sure sales continued, so she had arranged a whole series of these gigs in the tristate area. She wanted the title to stay on the New York Times best seller list for as long as possible. A fairly long line had formed after he had finished the reading; nevertheless, Castle was bored. He was kind and cordial to the fans, but he was suffering from that sense of routine, routine, routine. As the crowd thinned out another book appeared in front of him. He didn't really look up at the owner of the female hands that placed it there.

"To whom shall I made this out," he asked politely.

"Kate . . . make it out to Kate," came the reply in a voice that he could recognize anywhere.

He looked up instantly and studied her. He was not pleased. When his work had concluded, Kate was waiting for him outside. He started to walk by her without another word.

"Castle -wait!" she pleaded.

"I did, for four months. You never called," he replied, upset and disgusted.

"Look, I know you're angry," Kate acknowledged.

"You're damn right I'm angry. I watched you die in that ambulance; did you know that? You know what that's like? Watching the life drain out of someone you . . . someone you care about," he gushed, as he recalled the mental picture.

"I told you I needed some time," she said flatly.

"You said a few days," he countered.

"Well, I needed more," she replied with a degree of finality.

"You should have said that," he muttered, still disgusted with her, and wondering if so much extra time had resolved anything at all.

They walked on for another block without saying anything until each had taken a seat on a child's swing at a nearby playground. They sat there and continued their meeting.

"Castle, look, I couldn't call you. Okay? Not without dragging myself into everything that I was just trying to get some space from. I needed some time to just work through everything," she tried to explain.

"Josh help you with that," inquired Richard fiercely.

"We broke up," Kate confessed, "Look, I really, really liked him . . . but that wasn't enough. After my mother was killed, something inside me changed. It's like I built up this wall inside. I don't know, I guess I just didn't want to hurt like that again. I know I'm not gonna be able to be the kind of person that I wanna be, I know I'm not gonna . . . I'm not gonna be able to have the kind of relationship that I want until that wall comes down. And it's not gonna happen 'til I put this thing to rest . . . Castle, I need your help," she concluded.

He cooled down somewhat. He didn't give voice to his thoughts. I need your help . . . nobody really gave a crap about Richard Castle until they needed his help . . . then he somehow goes from just another mystery writer to someone important.

"Then I suppose we're just going to have to find these guys and take them down . . . but that doesn't mean I'm not still mad," he concluded, while remembering his promise to Jim Beckett.

The help had to do with where Castle had left off just before Gates made him leave. With Gates around, Kate could not use NYPD time and resources, at least openly, to research her sniper case or her mother's murder case. It was dangerous to keep any files at the precinct which made Castle's digital murder board at the loft the key. Kate kept a version of her own murder board in her apartment, but it had a four-month gap in the information. She wanted Castle to help her just pick up where they had left off so, that's what they did. When Kate finally appeared back on the public scene, Richard Castle received a strange phone call late one afternoon. The caller ID simply read 'Unknown'.

"Richard Castle," the gruff voice began, "we need to talk."

"Who is this?" Castle demanded.

"For now, the name Smith will do, I'm a friend of Roy Montgomery," the voice continued, "I want you to meet me at the parking deck opposite the book store on Madison with 67th, basement level two, row six, precisely at 6:30 PM, you got that?"

"Yes," Castle replied obediently, "What if I need to call you?"

"You don't call me; I'll be the one calling you," the voice replied with finality as the call terminated.

There was no record of a number from which it had originated. Smith made that call after having gone over the packet in fine detail. He had also placed a call to an office in the US Capitol very soon after receiving it.

The next morning in his home office, Richard told his mother how Smith said he received files from Montgomery that if made public would hurt some very powerful people and that he and Montgomery had been using the files to keep Montgomery's family and Beckett safe. Smith didn't receive them until the day after Beckett was shot. He could protect her as long as she backed off from her investigation. If she didn't he couldn't guarantee her safety.

"Well, don't you think you should tell her," asked Martha.

"If I do, she'll go straight for him and risk getting herself killed . . . just like I overheard Montgomery say the same thing to her; and I don't want to lose her again . . . I've seen that once; I can't bear the thought of it," he confessed. "Besides, I think I can convince her to back off," he added hopefully.

As he and Martha exited his office they encountered Alexis who had overheard the deal. Alexis was not pleased; as she recalled that he, Martha, and herself could have easily been the ones on that assassin's list.

"Dad grow up and stop pretending to be a cop," she declared in her irritation with the situation.

"I'm going to grow up . . . that's why I have to do this . . . I owe it to her . . . and this doesn't go beyond this room, it that clear?" he reminded them both.

With that he headed over to the precinct. On the way he stopped at the coffee truck. The proprietor had wondered where he had been for such a long time.

Kate Beckett had only been on active duty for a number of days. Castle had been back for one; after he had called the mayor and asked him to get Captain Gates to change her mind. Gates had done so, very reluctantly, and with a fierce warning to both Richard and Kate, first for going over her head, and second about any misconduct on the job. On paper, everything appeared to be Okay with Kate; however, Castle, Ryan, and Esposito soon found out otherwise. A well-known party-girl, and girlfriend, of a grunge rock band member had been murdered. The team had been working the case before Kate's return; and had narrowed it down to a second band member after the boyfriend had alibied out. At first, the alibi appeared shaky at best, but further digging had proved his story. So, the team had returned to the band's practice venue in order to bring the new suspect in. The band was in a practice session when they arrived to make the arrest. The suspect started to run. Ryan and Espo ran interference, and Kate got the drop on him. Nobody expected him to pull a gun. Kate wasn't right; she couldn't mentally function with the gun pointed at her chest. She faltered. Fortunately, the rest of the team backed her up and the arrest was made without further incident. Later that afternoon, Kate disappeared. She had made an emergency appointment with the department's psychoanalyst in a desperate attempt to get her head on straight.

Kate had tried to convince herself that she was fully recovered but realized she had failed miserably; she couldn't deny needing help.

"Dr. Burke, I suppose you must be surprised to see me back here since I passed the psych evaluation already," Kate began.

"Everyone is different . . . what looks like it's fixed can be very easily be broken again," he responded, "So, what's on your mind?"

She let out a long sigh. "There's so much that's rushed in over the last couple of days, I don't even know where to begin," she confessed.

"Why don't we begin with the shooting, is any of that coming back to you?" he suggested.

"I lied to you before . . . I remember details."

"What do you remember?" Dr. Burke coaxed.

"I remember everything . . . the distant crack of the shot, the dizziness, my worm's eye view of the grass, everyone rushing around . . . and Richard Castle, holding me, pleading for me not to die, and telling me he loved me", she replied almost in tears.

Her session lasted nearly two hours. She told Dr. Burke that she needed to be fully functional. He told her it wasn't that easy. Someone like her with post-traumatic stress syndrome was not going to readjust overnight. He told her she would have to eventually come to grips with the constant reminders of guns, gunshots, and bullets, and deaths that were part of her job. It was either that, or she might have to retire and seek disability; or retrain for a whole new line of work. She was concerned that she wasn't normal. She couldn't have a full, healthy relationship with a man because of the whole set of circumstances involving her mother's death; that for the last twelve years or so, her whole life, her whole being had been altered by her desire to have closure. Dr. Burke asked her to really study the motive, for carrying that burden for so many years, was it really for justice, or was it also for vengeance – to make the perpetrator hurt in some manner so as to repay the hurt she had felt? Was it fair to the men she had encountered during that time, to hold them perpetually at arm's length? Was she being fair to herself? Was it just because she was trying to escape another form of hurt? Had she considered that hurt could cut both ways when she would inexplicably shut down a relationship just when things seemed to be getting too complicated for her?

When she left for home, she felt somewhat unburdened. She didn't feel at all relieved, but at least she had lightened the load somewhat and cleared the lie with one person. She was still covering way too many for her own good. Dr. Burke had been right. The months drifted by; and with them came the challenges of the job and her relationship with Richard Castle. The Castle family continued in its normal routine. When not at the precinct, Richard would attempt to work on the next novel in the Nikki Heat series. Martha kept dabbling with the theater and took parts whenever they were offered. Alexis had continued her relationship with Ashley. She had entered her senior year in high school. Ashley had decided to attend Stanford University. The distance, the time zone difference, and the intervening agendas had made the relationship challenging; as if Richard didn't know about challenging relationships, he understood his daughter's frustrations. Meanwhile, Kate kept battling her demons. She saw Dr. Burke about once a month. Since the visits were voluntary, they did not have to be reported to Captain Gates. Kate and the whole team secretly worked on any lead pertaining to her sniper attack and anything related to her mother's murder. Trying to stay under the radar emitted by Captain "Iron" Gates was very difficult; hence, most of the exploration and record keeping was being done on Richard Castle's computer back at the loft. They continued to navigate the crooked passage between a rock and hard place. The enemy assassin camp was on one side and the NYPD administration was on the other, but Kate would simply not let it go.

Kate kept up her get close, but not too close antics with Richard. She was not the girl of his dreams, but she now had a firm hold on his heart. He was determined to not let her be the 'one who got away' like that very first love of his back in college; even before Meredith had come along. Kate was the only person he had met thus far who challenged him on all fronts; the one whom, just as soon as he thought he had a read on her, would take a new turn or add a new facet to her life. She seemed to always be one step ahead of Nikki Heat. That was good, it was part of the magic. November had come and gone; a whole year since their first real kiss, and things remained stuck at square one. In his quieter moments, Richard thought about how much he longed to hold and comfort the one he had secretly sworn to protect. It wasn't about the books anymore. Kate would someday soon need to come clean on her real feelings, rather than just infer them by her exchange of looks. Richard remembered one of those looks during one case involving not only the theft of a modern sculpture entitled 'The Fist of Capitalism', valued at fifty million dollars or so; and the obvious murder of the museum's director to go with it. The museum's insurance company had retained a very good looking, if not downright sexy, and talented consultant named Serena Kaye. Her specialty was recovery of such stolen objects; and she had some very sophisticated means of doing so. The precinct was forced to collaborate with her. She had taken a fancy to Richard Castle the moment they were introduced, which made Kate's monthly visit to Dr. Burke occur at an even more opportune time. Kate described her feelings, her frustration, and above all, her jealousy. Suspicion remained on Serena Kaye. Kate had explained that one of the best ways to hide a motive was to pretend to be working for the people who were looking for the motive. The team formulated a plan, but it was fraught with risks but getting caught was the least of them. Richard Castle had been the diversion. He took Serena to dinner at the hotel at which she was staying. While he was on the date with her, Kate and the team would sneak upstairs and search her room for any clues or evidence of wrong doing. The plan worked on paper, but there was no calculating how fast things might heat up between Serena and Richard. As Murphy's Law would have it, things moved faster than anticipated. Castle kept stalling as much as possible, by suggesting a rather elaborate dessert that was the pastry chef's specialty at that hotel. Serena called for the check and suggested that they enjoy that dessert up in her room. Room service could take care of it. As they left the table, Richard sent a text to Kate: 'get out now!'. She received it just as she encountered some very skimpy lingerie in her search through Serena's belongings. The team scrambled to get out; the elevator was on its way up, and when the elevator doors opened Castle glanced down the hall toward Serena's room and saw the door knob turn. He made a quick comment to Serena about how he was looking forward to the rest of the evening, turned and backed her up against the wall, and planted a deep, long-lasting kiss on her, just as Kate and the team were making their exit.

"My heart leapt into my throat," she told Dr. Burke.

"So, are you telling me you felt pangs of jealousy," he echoed back for verification.

"Well, yes . . . it looks to me that he's really becoming interested in her," she stated.

"What are you afraid of?", Burke questioned, ". . . that he won't wait for you . . . or that he will?"

She still didn't know. One thing she did know; she was really mad at Castle for insisting that Serena was innocent even though evidence found in her hotel room suggested otherwise. But Castle had been proven right. Serena had not been their perp. The case had been solved and Castle had, in a burst of creative supposition, figured out that the artwork had not yet left the museum; that it had been stashed inside another piece of modern art. He cracked it open to show the team. He also got a bill for two-hundred and fifty thousand dollars from the museum to cover the damaged artwork. Winter dragged on. The case load was fairly light, but Richard Castle continued his former habit of stopping in every morning just to try to brighten Kate's day. In mid-February, Kate's post-traumatic stress syndrome returned with a vengeance. Little wonder why with it being a serial sniper case. During the investigation of the crime scene and its surroundings, a delivery truck passed by and emitted a loud backfire about halfway down the block. Kate immediately hit the pavement and rolled toward cover. Castle helped her up, but she was completely in shock, her eyes wide with terror. It took ten minutes to calm her down. Castle found a curious cut-out paper doll perched on the window sill from which the sniper had fired. The paper was glossy. It looked like it had been cut out of an expensive book or reference work on famous oil paintings. The sniper was trying to make a statement, which made it even worse for Kate. As she undressed for the evening, she turned to face the mirror and ran her finger over the small scar where her assassin's bullet had entered her chest. As she did so, terrible flash backs of her ordeal passed through her head. Her chest got so tight she could barely breathe. Later the next morning, the news broke that the sniper had struck again. At the second crime scene, a squad car needed to head out, and without warning, hit the siren. The sudden noise unnerved Kate. Castle tried to reassure her by saying it could have startled anyone. She snapped at him harshly reminding him that she wasn't just anyone. It got worse. On the way back, she caught a brief glimpse of light from high up on one building. She abruptly swung around behind the team. By this time everyone knew Kate had a real problem. Back at the precinct, Captain Gates was going through the case strategy, but Kate could hardly concentrate. After the briefing Kate excused herself, telling the team she had something to do. She didn't elaborate further; she just left and headed directly to Dr. Burke's office.

"I had serious, unnerving flash-backs of my sniper incident last night," she began.

She was sure that it came on due to the current case involving another sniper. She could hardly look at the victims and not get all shaky.

"I have to be alright," she declared, "What's it going to take to make me alright?"

"It's not always your choice, Kate," he replied.

"You don't understand . . . I need to be alright to finish this case! Listen, people are dying out there. I don't have time to get all weepy over a couple of scars."

"OK. So, what's the alternative? Walking around feeling like you have crosshairs on your back? Thinking every glint off a window is a sniper's scope? It might be better if you step away from this one until you've worked on the issues more . . . you're not the only homicide cop in New York," Dr. Burke offered, trying to get her to see an alternate line of reasoning.

Kate didn't agree. She concluded the session declaring she would make herself alright. Meanwhile Richard Castle cornered Esposito in one of the multi-purpose rooms.

"How worried should I be about Beckett? . . . I mean she's never snapped at me like that before . . . and really meant it," he said, voicing a common concern.

They agreed that something had to be done to calm her down; otherwise Gates would get wind of it and relieve her of duty; and that would only make things worse. The team found the second vantage point from which the sniper had struck. CSU found shell casings and another paper doll. The doll had been cut from a different work of art with a different theme. This time a fingerprint had been found on one of the shell casings. They went to round up its owner. Castle had talked Kate into hanging back at the precinct in order to prepare for the interrogation.

The next day, Esposito called Kate down to the evidence and property room. When she got there, she found him holding a military issued sniper's rifle.

"What is that all about," Kate asked as she entered.

"It's the gun that shot you," he replied quietly.

"Oh, you are way out of line," she exclaimed getting instantly worked up.

"Just look at it," he responded in a steady tone.

"No! What the hell are you doing?"

He looked straight into her eyes. "I've been where you are. I know what you're going through," he assured her.

"Javi, I'm fine."

"You're not fine! You're just trying to act like you are. This is just a tool. It's a hunk of steel. It has no magical powers and the person that fired it is not some all-powerful god. He's just a guy with a gun just like the guy we're hunting now. And like every other bad guy he's damaged goods," concluded Esposito.

"So am I," Kate sniffed, a track of tears staining her cheeks.

"That's right. And that's okay. You think it's a weakness. Make it a strength. It's a part of you - so use it," Javier finished, assuring her that the line of reasoning had eventually worked for him.

She at least left with a different perspective. Castle was relieved to see that the secret meeting with Javier had some positive effect. But what was the story behind those paper dolls? He took them back to the loft and spent most of the night trying to make some sense of them.

In the wee hours of the morning, Alexis had heard him stirring in his office. She wanted to know why he had not come home for dinner.

"Beckett again?", she asked quietly. Yes, it was Beckett. "You really like her don't you dad," Alexis dared to pry.

"Yes, she makes me very happy," he replied in a relaxed tone.

"Is that enough?" Alexis wanted to know as much for her database as a concern for her father.

"It's enough for now," he replied. "What I can't figure out is why these illustrations?", he said, changing the subject and showing her the paper dolls.

"Hey! I've seen that somewhere before; it was in my art history class."

She went upstairs and fetched the textbook they had used in class. She showed him the picture; it was entitled _The Persecution of Kings_. The first victim had fallen on King Street. A little more searching and the second was _A Fall from Grace_ ; the next day they had narrowed it down to the Grace Point Tower Building. They got there too late; the shooting had already occurred, but the victim was still alive and being rushed to the hospital. Kate completely lost it as she saw the victim, a panicked woman, being wheeled out. She knew exactly what that victim was feeling as she ducked down a hallway where nobody was, stripped off her police gear, and sat there and cried forcefully. She didn't know how she was going to continue in her chosen line of work. Nobody saw her. She eventually found her way back to the precinct. CSU found the sniper's location; but this time, things were different. The paper doll at the window unfolded into a dozen figures. Castle dutifully researched the work of art from which they had been cut. It was called _Lions in the Meadow_. After lots of frantic calls to see what events or who had permits for large gatherings of people in several of the city parks, they narrowed it down to a high school track team, called the Lions, that had just won the regional championship. A school picnic had been scheduled at the south end of Central Park. There were several vantage points. Kate forced herself back into the line of duty and the team cased the possible points. They spread out. What Kate didn't know was that Esposito had come prepared to take the sniper down on the same terms the sniper had intended for his victims. Kate hit pay dirt; and along with it, the opportunity to face down the worst of her fears. It was literally do or die this time. When she saw him with his back to her, she yelled 'NYPD, put the gun down.' He dropped the sniper's rifle but had a pistol ready and aimed at her as he turned around. She side-stepped and came at him but, he was fast and made an offensive move that sent her sprawling with her gun skittering across the floor. Kate knew it was her last chance. She tried what Esposito had suggested; she used her weakness, her helplessness as a victim of a sniper, to reason with him. He wasn't buying it; he was too far gone to be helped, but she was buying time.

"I'm going to have to kill you . . . so turn around," he commanded.

"No!" she countered fiercely as she glared back at him. "If you're going to do this you have to look me directly in the eye as you do it."

He hesitated. His hand flinched, and an instant later the window glass shattered, and the sniper slumped forward. Esposito had taken him and saved Kate's life.

Richard Castle had remained at the precinct since the team had already left when he arrived. He was seated in his usual place by Kate's desk.

"What are you doing," Kate asked as she walked up to her desk.

"Waiting for my partner.", he replied, "Maybe you've seen her . . . thinks she can leap tall buildings in a single bound . . . carries the weight of the world on her shoulders, yet still manages to laugh at some of my jokes," he tailed off.

Beckett gave a weak smile. "She sounds like a handful."

"Tell me about it," replied Castle as he got up to leave. "Anyway, if you do see her, tell her she owes me about a hundred coffees."

Her smile broadened. "You know it's a shame to learn that the sniper's twisted logic caused all of that. He sat in the same coffee shop day after day and overheard conversations of the victims bantering about their success stories; so, he decided to make them pay; even to the point of wanting to murder a busload of high school kids."

He shook his head as he turned to leave.

"Castle, thank you for not pushing, and giving me the space to get through this," she said in a shaky but sincere voice.

"Always," he simply said as he walked out, glad to see she was coping with the situation somewhat better than before.

Somehow Kate was still in once piece; and still on active duty with the NYPD. Castle had already concluded the same thing Kate that had admitted to Dr. Burke in the session following her ordeal.

"So, explain your feelings," he began.

"I thought taking down the sniper would end my issues, but it hasn't."

"I wouldn't expect it to be that simple."

"The issues with him are the same issues I've had ever since my mother was killed. It's the feelings surrounding it that I can't shake. They seem to have defined me, made me who I am . . . I want to be more, I want to move on, but I don't know how without letting my mother down," she confessed.

"I'm sorry, you can't let your mother down, she's dead and nothing can change that . . . you can only let yourself down . . . you will just have to make peace with your mom's death and those scars from your own shooting. None of this has to limit you in any way . . . I can help you let go of it all, but that's only if you're ready" Dr. Burke offered.

"I think I'm finally ready to try that."

Castle would have been extremely happy to have heard that reply since he had been hoping for at least the last year and three months that she would be ready to move forward with her life.

She stepped up her sessions with Dr. Burke to once a week. Fortunately, he was available after normal precinct hours, so her sessions didn't raise suspicions with anyone. She remained as discrete as she knew how. Everything was going much better until the end of the first week in April. She and Richard had become as close as they had ever dared to get. Even Captain Gates had noticed the effect. About midday breaking news showed a bomb explosion at Boylan Plaza where a contingent of 'Occupy Wall Street' protesters were going about their business. A news crew from a local TV station just happened to be there when the bomb went off. The event emptied the ME's office as well as several police precincts, with the 12th being one of them. Five people lay dead; and more than two dozen had been seriously injured. Several specialty units as well as two CSU's went to work. The normal flow of work abruptly stopped and was redirected when the feds showed up and took over the crime scene. Captain Gates was incensed that her people had to act in a support role to the feds. Preliminary results indicated that a suicide bomber had not been involved. They were trying to determine, from the mix of people present, if the demonstrators had been specifically targeted. That didn't appear to be the case either. Captain Gates even found a use for Castle. There were literally hundreds of pages of statements and testimony generated from the interviews of all the witnesses. Gates was aware of Castle's speed-reading ability as well as his memory and, on occasion, attention to detail. She decided he was her best bet. After she had made the request and given him the stack of folders, he turned to Kate:

"I think she's beginning to like me."

Gates, as she was returning to her office, overheard the whisper and replied: "No I'm not."

Castle winked at Kate and whispered, "But I'm wearing her down."

Kate stayed late that night and came in early the next morning. She automatically looked at Castle's chair as she passed by and wished it had been occupied. Castle did arrive later, with the customary coffees in hand. He set Kate's down at the special spot on her desk. When he heard she was interviewing a witness, he hurried over to the observation room to see what was up. Kate was grilling the witness quite heavily. He had been claiming he couldn't really remember what happened with the trauma and all.

"I swear I don't remember!" the suspect's voice crackled through the monitor in the observation room.

"The hell you don't remember! Do you wanna know trauma? I was shot in the chest and I remember every second of it! And so do you, because all you got was a loud explosion and some bruises," Kate shot back.

Castle was stunned. The hurt from her unknowing confession sank in quickly and intensified as the afternoon wore on. Just before he left the observation room he thought to himself _all this time, you remembered . . . and even lied about it_. The case was beginning to affect the Castle family for worse. High school seniors could get out early to report to job enrichment activities. Alexis had been approved for such a slot when she applied as an office aid at the 12th precinct, landing a job to assist the property room in identification and cataloging of all of the incoming items from the crime scenes. This one had been particularly bad. She was exhausted. She had made multiple trips to the morgue to collect items Dr. Parish had taken from the dead. She had been at the task most of the night. Her father, feeling exactly like he had felt the week before Memorial Day and the Tom Demming incident, had abruptly left the observation room, collected Alexis, and the both of them headed for home. When Kate got out of interrogation and saw the coffee on her desk, she asked Ryan if Castle had come by. Ryan informed her that indeed Castle had come in, but then said there was some place he needed to be and left.

The occupants of the loft had brunch together. Alexis had begged off attending school for the day, given the circumstances. The irony of the whole thing was that Richard and Martha had been discussing how nothing was certain; like the incident in Boylan Plaza. Usually there was a story, there was a reason someone was killed; it may have been a twisted reason, but it had been a good enough reason for the perpetrator to act. This just seemed to be a case of people being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Worse yet, that conversation had been echoed with Kate just the day before; and she had concluded that it makes you think about all those things in your own life that you don't want to put off anymore. He had wondered what made Kate say that, but he had been happy to hear it. His own feeling on the matter had been precipitated by Martha urging her son to restate his declaration of love to Kate at a time when she was not laying on the grass only semiconscious with a bullet in her chest. Alexis had prepared a portion of the brunch; Martha had done the rest. Castle looked down at his plate.

"These are emergency cheering up pancakes! I mean, these are usually reserved for break ups or 'Dancing with the Stars' eliminations."

"You look like you needed them dad."

"Yeah, well you didn't look so good at the end of your shift this morning either."

Martha watched the two of them in silence.

"You don't have to go back to it you know . . . It's just that you're gonna see plenty of reality in your lifetime. I just would like you to keep the rose color on your glasses for as long as possible."

"I'm trying not to focus on the ugly side of it, dad. I've gotten straight A's, awards, more trophies than I can count. This job is the first thing that's made me feel like I'm doing something important, valuable. I mean, isn't that why you do it?" she replied, hoping he'd see her reasoning.

"You're a pretty smart kid, you know that?" he teased.

"Well, they say genius skips a generation," she rebounded.

"Apparently so does funny," he concluded with a smile.

Somewhat later, Richard invited his mother to accompany him to the crime scene. They left Alexis napping on the sofa.

"Honey isn't this kind of morbid," inquired his mother as they arrived at an impromptu memorial display of pictures, flowers, and burning candles at the side of the plaza.

"It's how I'm feeling," he sighed.

"She isn't dead," replied Martha, having been filled in on the reason for his mood on the way over.

"She might as well be. I really thought we could have a future together. You know, I was willing to wait. Come to find out it's just a big joke. She knew. This whole time she remembered, and she didn't say anything . . . maybe because she was too embarrassed to tell me she didn't feel the same way . . . I'm such a fool," he admitted in defeat.

They looked over the site for a few more minutes in silence.

"Well, I have to go back to the precinct," Richard finally said.

"Why on earth would you go back knowing how she feels, knowing that she lied to you," Martha exclaimed.

"I've done that very thing before . . . that is, run away or stay away . . . I told Alexis I'd start growing up . . . so this isn't about Kate. This is about them," he said, as he pointed to the pictures of the victims. "It's about doing something real, something that matters. I'm not willing to let that go," he continued to explain.

"Richard, love is not a switch. You can't just turn it off. You can't work side-by-side with her and not feel _anything_ ," Martha said.

"Watch me."

Martha hailed a taxi and returned home. Richard found his way back to the precinct. On his way there he dismissed an urge to call Jim Beckett and tell him that he wouldn't be able to watch after Kate any longer. No. He would continue; isn't that what he had promised his own daughter; that he would grow up? He had extracted himself from problematic relationships more than a few times. Wasn't that the reasoning behind this extended partnership? Wasn't it why he had chosen to be so patient? But for the near future at least, it appeared his dealings with Kate Beckett would be out of a sense of duty rather than a labor of love.

If Richard had not been so devastated by Kate's secret, he would have been fascinated by the analysis that had gone on to solve the case. The feds had brought in some technology that had tracked movements within the crowd by using the GPS signals on their cell phones. Someone had moved through the crowd, dropped a blue canvas backpack, with the bomb in it at a lamp post in the center of the plaza and had moved away quickly. Only problem was the owner of the phone had been another activist trying to talk some sense into the protesters as to his take on the matter; he had either lost or been relieved of his cell phone. Kate didn't believe him. He lawyered up. Finally, the truth emerged. The TV news woman had planned the whole thing with the help of her friend Jesse, who supported the movement. It was a pipe bomb in a blue canvas back-pack, which they had purposely hidden between two dumpsters away from most of the crowd. No one was supposed to have gotten hurt; just a big publicity deal, support for the cause, and recognition for the news woman, with hopefully a promotion to news anchor. They had not counted upon the random actions of a common pick-pocket. He had been lifting wallets, cell phones, and whatever he could lay his hands on in the crowded plaza. He spotted the unattended back-pack and made off with it. Jessie chased after him. The thief dumped the hot item at the lamp post and made his getaway without knowing the contents. Jessie tried to call Leann, the TV reporter, to stop the detonation, but she had her attention turned toward the TV camera. She pressed the remote control discretely as she was giving the report. The bomb went off, and the rest was history. Her friend Jesse was among the dead. At first, Leann covered her crime; but when confronted with both the cell phone she had used to determine when they were ready to pull of the stunt; and the remote-control device to detonate it, she admitted to the deed. CSU had recovered the items from a storm drain about a half a block away from the plaza.

"Leann, why didn't you just come forward when you realized what happened," Kate asked at the end of the interrogation.

Leann had wanted to protect Jesse's memory, and even if she had come forward, it wouldn't have done any good, she had reasoned. Castle, who had been admitted to the final interrogation, took the few seconds of silence and replied:

"Well, that's what your friend Jesse would call sinning by silence. It's not smart, it's not brave. It's just cowardly," said Castle, and turned his head slightly to shoot Kate a piercing glance as he said it.

As the case was brought to closure, the majority of the fourth floor was gathered around the make-shift command center that Captain Gates had put together. Gates thanked all who had worked on the case; and who had given, in her words, a hundred and ten percent to get the job done. It was near the end of the day shift. She bade them a safe trip home to get some much-needed rest. Kate was in a celebratory mood, but Ryan and Esposito bowed out. Castle also refused. saying he needed to get some things done and headed for the elevator. Just before the elevator doors closed, Kate shot a glance in his direction. Her boyfriend wore an expression of anger and betrayal.

The Boylan Plaza case had closed on Wednesday afternoon. It was now Saturday evening and Kate had found her way to Lanie's apartment for some girl-talk therapy, which of course, included wine. She had not seen Richard Castle since the elevator doors hid him from view. The conversation centered on the men in their lives.

"I'm telling you something happened, something changed. It's been weird between us lately," Kate was saying, with obvious concern as to what was going on between her and her boyfriend.

"Lately? Kate, it's been weird for nearly four years," Lanie replied.

"No, this is different. He's different. It's like he's pulling away," reasoned Kate, still trying to make sense of Richard's abrupt change of demeanor.

"Well, can you blame him? He's probably tired of waiting," replied Lanie, now somewhat exasperated as she took a long sip of wine.

"Waiting for what?"

"What do you think? The guy is crazy about you. And despite your little act, you're crazy about him. Oh, what? Was that supposed to be some big secret? . . . I told you about that just before you started in on that other guy, Josh, wasn't it," Lanie replied, rolling her eyes for effect.

"Yes!" replied Kate, referring to her feelings being a secret. Lanie in turn shot her a dubious look. "Well, no . . . Do you think he knows?" Kate concluded with a self-conscious and somewhat worried look.

"You remember how he used to be? . . . girl on either arm? You really don't see that guy too much anymore. Why do you think that is? He's waiting for _you_!" Lanie reasoned.

"I just, I don't want to lose what we have, you know?", Kate said, somewhat lost in thought.

"Girl, please. What exactly do you have, really?", Lanie insisted.

"A friendship," Kate stated in a matter-of-fact tone, happy with her conclusion.

"No, what you and I have is a friendship. What you and Castle have is a holding pattern. How long can you circle before the fuel runs out," Lanie said as she made a circling pattern with her wine glass in hand. Then she drank some more of the wine, leaving only a small amount in the bottom of the glass just to illustrate her point. "Oh, a Saturday night and now I gotta go to work! . . . Good thing we didn't get too far into that bottle of wine."

Lanie stared at the screen of her cell phone, wishing that she had been at liberty to turn it off.

"And now so do I," said Kate as hers pinged next. "Looks like we're headed to the same scenic spot."

The scenic spot was a seedy motel at the south end of the precinct's border.

"Don't think you were saved by the bell, Kate Beckett. As your friend, I'm not gonna let this drop," Lanie continued their conversation from the apartment.

"So, what? You think I should tell him how I feel?", Kate questioned her as they stood by their vehicles before making a move toward the crime scene.

"Yes! You hunt murderers for a living. You can do this!"

"OK. OK. I just have to find the right time" Kate said, knowing she was cornered.

"No time like the present," quipped Lanie as they heard the sound of Castle's Ferrari pulling up to the motel parking lot.

Only problem was the Ferrari held and extra passenger in the form of a giggling blonde woman. Castle got out and the woman also got out and circled the car to take the driver's side while Lanie and Kate looked on in disbelief.

"What the?! . . . on second thought, maybe you should wait a bit," Lanie whispered to Kate.

"I'll see you in an hour or so," Castle told the woman just before she drove off with his car.

Kate made her way over to where Castle was standing.

"I feel like I just stepped into a bad episode of _Miami Vice,_ " said Kate, uncertainty permeating her voice.

"OK, first off there are no bad episodes of _Miami Vice,_ and second, who died," replied Castle, in a jovial mood.

"You - from the looks of it. You look like you just got run over by a truck," said Kate as she studied him.

"Yeah, a truck delivering a shipment of awesome. Nah, I just flew away to Las Vegas for a couple of days, you know. See a little change of scenery," he quipped.

"And you won the blonde in a high stakes poker match," inquired Kate with obvious annoyance. "and you just loan her your car . . . just like that? . . . I mean how can you trust her?"

"The last time I let you drive my car, you had to show off . . . it scared the crap out of me. At least she's a very trustworthy first-class flight attendant . . . she promised she'd be careful. We met on the way back. The only other passenger in first class slept the whole way, so we had plenty of time to chat. She has the weekend off, so I promised her I'd show her around New York City."

"Oh," Kate replied hesitantly, ". . . Castle, it there something wrong between us?"

"Nope, not a thing . . .," he stated flatly as he made his way into the crime scene ahead of her.

Kate followed him into the hotel room. Lanie had bypassed their conversation outside and was already examining the victim.

"Lanie, how does it look," Kate asked.

"Like you waited too long," snipped Lanie in reply.

"No, I mean the vic," retorted Kate, now gearing up for police business.

Any pleasant effect the wine had given her earlier had vanished. Both the room and victim had been searched, but her purse, keys, and money were all intact. She was a British national, Naomi Allen was her name. Ryan contacted the British Embassy with her ID and passport number. They also rounded up the person the hotel maid had seen exiting the room just before the body was discovered. Scotland Yard Inspector-Detective Colin Hunt turned out to be the man who had left the scene. It took some verification on the phone, but he went from prime suspect to helper in the case. He knew the victim personally. Her boyfriend, a physician, while participating in the Doctors Without Borders program in Uganda, had died when someone shot down his helicopter. Kate winced upon hearing that detail as they were standing around the examining table in the city morgue. Colin Hunt had received a message on his phone. He excused himself and said he had to make a call. Castle was elsewhere, leaving Kate and Lanie alone.

"Um, he's easy on the eyes," Lanie began, referring to Mr. Hunt, "at least I got to see more of him than I did of Josh," she concluded.

"Look Kate, I'm sorry," Lanie said with empathy, referring to Kate's situation with Richard, "But you know that blonde . . . she's just a passing thing."

"Do I? I mean, the guy has been divorced twice and he's still chasing bimbos. Maybe that's just who he is . . . maybe I've just made a mistake," Kate sighed.

Lanie raised her eyes from her work to meet Kate's.

"Look, maybe it's the wrong time or maybe he's even the wrong guy; but if he is, how long are you gonna wait to find out? Ten years I've been keeping them company," she said, as she swept her hand toward the long wall of refrigerated body storage units, "while they spend a night or two here on their way to where we're all going. Don't believe me? . . . Look it up in Ecclesiastes. They all had plans, Kate. Things they were gonna do when they got around to it: go on a cruise, lose ten pounds, fall in love. They thought they had all the time in the world, but nobody does," Lanie said in conclusion of her philosophical discussion for Kate's benefit.

As she walked slowly through the tunnel between the ME's offices and the precinct, Kate thought deeply about what Lanie had said. Lanie seemed to have such a clear understanding of relationships with men. When Lanie talked, it wasn't complicated at all. As soon as Kate began thinking about it – it became complicated again. The details of the case faded into the background as Kate tried to understand Castle's mood. He had popped into the precinct for the morning, but then had left for a lunch date. When Lanie had heard Castle had left for lunch, she turned to Kate and asked:

"In a Ferrari full of flight attendant?"

Kate only nodded sadly. Lanie had been able to lift a partial finger print off the neck of the victim. No match was found in the system, but Lanie said that if someone could get a fingerprint from the perp, she had enough there to match it. Naomi Allen had an agreement with Colin Hunt after her boyfriend had been killed in Africa. She would always be carrying something that would point back to her killer for Colin to start an investigation. That's what Colin had been searching for when he found her murdered in the hotel room. It was a gym locker key. Ryan and Esposito had run down various venues in the immediate area to see if anyone had recently obtained a membership. Her name popped. The admin said she bought the membership around ten o'clock the same night she had been murdered and she was in and out of the venue within a few minutes. They tried the key. It opened the locker and they encountered only one thing – a photograph of someone getting out of a car; British by the looks of him; and a number written on the back of the photograph: 88-164-9973. They had run the numbers against all the databases they had. Nothing matched. Castle had caught himself up to speed before he left. When he returned, Kate posed a snide question:

"Well, how was lunch?"

"I really loved the special," he replied with a grin.

"I'll bet you did," she muttered.

Castle had shown the number to his guest during lunch. She had recognized it as a shipping number for what the airlines called a diplomatic pouch. The pouch could be as small as one of those overnight shipping envelopes or as large as an industrial shipping container.

"You took a police file with evidence and showed it someone outside the organization?" Kate asked incredulously.

"No, I didn't take a file out of the precinct, I only took a picture of the picture with my phone . . . and she asked me what I was looking at," he explained.

"You don't get it," Kate stated flatly.

"Yeah, I guess I don't get it . . . it helped in the case didn't it? . . . I mean, if you had any inkling that the number pertained to the airline industry, you would have been on the phone to someone outside the organization," he said in frustration.

They had enhanced the photo; and when they did, Colin noted the photo had been taken outside the British Consulate in NYC. A search of the staff at the Consulate revealed the man as Deputy Consular General Nigel Wyndham. The victim's boyfriend done away with in Uganda, 'diplomatic' shipments between that Consulate and Uganda, and a murder in NYC; all of it with Wyndham's name involved somehow. What kind of 'diplomatic' shipment measured five feet long and three feet tall as well as wide, and weighed some two hundred and fifty pounds? Something was up.

Captain Gates assured them she wasn't going to make any phone calls to the State Department, and risk an international incident, just on some hunches. There was no way anyone was going to walk into the British Consulate and ask anyone to volunteer to be fingerprinted. They would have to find another way. Castle came up with an elaborate scheme to break into Wyndham's residence, but Colin pulled some strings and got himself and Kate Beckett into a formal party at the Consulate that very evening.

"Well sure, do it the easy way." Castle muttered as he and the rest of the homicide team watched them walk out.

Kate looked stunning in a formal, strapless, black evening dress. Castle's memory flashed back to the image of her in that blue dress at the book party; then he remembered how things had turned out. He returned to their present situation. The plan was for Kate to do whatever it took to get something with Wyndham's fingerprints on it. They had a drink together, but when the glass got taken up and Colin couldn't intercept it on the way to the kitchen, Kate lifted Wyndham's calling card case from his coat while dancing with him. They thought they were home free but shortly thereafter, the couple Kate and Colin had been impersonating, showed up late, and the doorman came in search of the imposters and had them booted out. Colin thought they had failed but was very impressed when he saw that Kate had lifted the case. The celebratory bubble burst when Lanie told them it wasn't a match. Gates told her to run it again. She had run it three times, using different techs each time; and it still wasn't a match. Obviously, Wyndham had someone else doing lots of the dirty work. The case was solved when the team found the connection between Wyndham and the accomplice who owned the vehicle in the picture. The accomplice was also the link to the Uganda connection. When they found him and took his fingerprints, it was all over. Colin called Scotland Yard and had arrangements made for local back-up that was authorized to enter the Consulate. They all walked in, like they owned the place, and arrested a smug Nigel Wyndham for international trafficking in terrorism, fraud, and abetting the murder of a British citizen. The local New Yorker doing the dirty work, who called himself Biggie Slim, was also booked for murder one. Colin had immediately booked a flight back to London to face the consequences of his highly irregular procedures in the States. He had about four hours to wait for a flight out of JFK and wanted to know if Kate would join him for a drink. She cast a glance in Castle's direction and then politely refused.

"Perhaps another time then," Colin said as he was leaving.

To Kate's dismay, as she turned to inquire of his availability, Castle said he had something to attend to, and bade everyone a good afternoon. Kate shrugged, hesitated until after he had gone, and then dialed Colin's cell number.

"Are you still offering that drink?"


	16. Chapter 16

_A/N: I hope you enjoy the less choppy, plot-line tweaked, and somewhat improved version. Finally, the peak on the Freytag pyramid. We stay in the Castle Universe_ _with a narrative that stays mostly true to Season 4 episode 23. Need I say more, Caskett shippers?_

 _Disclaimer: I do not own Castle – all credit goes to Andrew Marlow and the writing team for ABC's Castle; my thanks to them for providing a foundation for this little exercise._

16

It was now less than a week before Alexis was to graduate high school. All the time her father had been caught in the ups and downs of his relationship with Kate, Alexis had prudently plodded along with her school responsibilities. Perhaps it was due to her natural drive for perfection that made most of the teenage angst fade into the background; or perhaps it had been her mission of a rebellion of sorts. She would use the contrast to jibe her father and grandmother. Richard never had to admonish her regarding her studies. Nevertheless, he had always been there for her when she needed advice and encouragement. She had always felt loved and protected. And now that phase of her academic life was all over; she had finished at the top of her class. She came to her father complaining of how difficult it was to write a speech for the graduation ceremony. She had done some research and compiled a number of the topics and statements others had considered so profound in previous speeches to graduating classes. Afterward she read her first draft aloud and it had sounded so pompous. Richard had assured her it wasn't as hard as she was making it out to be; and that he knew she would do the right thing. The cap and gown had arrived and were currently draped across the living room sofa; the typical black garment with a gold tassel and a shiny pendant for 'Class of 2012'; and there was also a special sash for the valedictorian. It was going to be a small party in attendance as far as the Castle family was concerned. So far, it was only Richard and Martha. Alexis had emailed Meredith about it. Meredith had written back that she would have very much wanted to come but she was in the middle of a production shoot, and it would be impossible to get the time off. Gina hadn't been considered. Richard had wanted to ask both Kate and Dr. Parish, since Alexis had spent some time interning for the precinct, but the right time for doing so simply had not yet presented itself, yet there was still some time left. He'd have them look at their respective schedules to see if things could work out. The ceremony was at a large hall in Manhattan, which the school normally obtained; however, each graduate was limited to only six entry passes. The ceremony was scheduled for the upcoming Friday at two o'clock in the afternoon. Afterwards, Alexis was going to attend a huge all-night party and was free to plan what she would do for some much-needed R & R. Martha wasn't going to interfere – she had decided to spend some time at the Hamptons for the weekend, seeing that the following week would be full of demands for the theater. Richard was in limbo; he had hoped to get things back on track with Kate Beckett.

Kate and Richard needed to talk. In fact, they had wanted to have a serious conversation as to where they were going in their relationship. Kate knew something was bothering Richard. She had traced it back to that horrible look he had given her during the plaza bombing case, but she couldn't figure out the reason for that as well as several other remarks he had made over the weeks since. They met in the mornings for coffee as usual, but Kate was always focused on work, so she would never step away from the precinct to have a meaningful discussion. The end result was always the same; they would just start making some headway, and then there would be a couple of interruptions, and then it would be on to the next little issue that needed some immediate attention. They remained at square one. Richard would take his leave and attend to his own routine, except there would be no calls to Gina. It had gone on that way for some time, right up to that fateful Thursday morning. Castle had left the precinct as usual, but around one o'clock in the afternoon, he received a call from Smith. 'Meet me at the assigned space in the parking deck in one hour' Smith's voice had commanded. 'Got it' had Castle replied. As usual the call terminated abruptly.

The meeting went as planned. Smith remained in the shadows.

"The man she's looking for is Cole Maddox . . . that's who made the assassination attempt on her," Smith informed Castle.

"Why do I need to know this," Castle inquired.

"Because she's going to find out soon enough . . . and after she does . . . I won't be able to protect her anymore . . . and neither will you. She's reopened the case, and she's getting close. You've been a well-placed pawn on that chessboard for months now, but your effectiveness is in question. If you can't control her, then I can't control the situation any longer," Smith concluded.

As he was finishing, and before Castle could ask any more questions, a vehicle raced between them blocking his view, then Smith was gone. Castle returned to his car and sat there in the dim light of the parking deck thinking for a long time. They had to come clean with each other. She hadn't told him she was working on the case again. His childish reaction upon the discovery of her little secret was going to get her killed if things didn't change. It had to be straightened out before the sun set. He left the deck and continued with some errands that had to be done before the weekend. He decided to go see her at her place just as soon as she got off work. If things went well, he'd also ask her to attend the graduation ceremony.

Castle called Esposito just before the end of the day shift and asked if it looked like the team, especially Kate, were going to have regular day instead of a 'normal' day, which meant going home on time for a change. To Castle's relief, Esposito informed him that it looked like Kate was headed for home. Castle immediately headed for her home address and staked out the building. About twenty minutes later she arrived on foot. He waited another twenty minutes, while sorting out how he was going to present his dilemma to her, then he drew a deep breath and made his way up to her apartment. He knocked softly. She was in her kitchenette and heard it with no problem. She acted surprised to see him at her door.

"May I come in? . . . we've got to talk," he began.

She must have checked to see who was at the door, he reasoned as he looked in, because she hadn't made any effort to conceal the extensive murder board she had assembled for the sniper and her mother's case.

"I'll say we do," she replied simply as she motioned for him to come in. "Castle, like I asked you before, is there a problem between us?"

"Yes, there is, kind of . . . You have to stop. This investigation, you have to stop," Richard began.

"Castle, we already talked about this. I'm fine. I'm in control," she countered in her usual way.

"No, you're not. They are," he tried to explain, as he felt his concern for her and his frustration beginning to surface. "Look, I know you're on the trail of your would-be sniper again. You think he's involved in the grand scheme behind your mother's murder but that may not be the case. Look, Montgomery knew somebody. A guy who only calls himself Smith has been in touch with me. He says he has leverage against the people who are out to get you, but he can do that only if we . . . if _you_ stay off the case."

"How do you know that he's not involved and how can you say that . . . and how the hell can you do this?! . . . I mean, just come in here and tell me what to do," she questioned him, becoming more irate with every word.

"Because I love you. But you already know that, don't you? You've known for about a year," he confessed, while giving her the same look as he had every time he dropped a hint about her secret revelation.

"Do you have to bring that up right now," she asked, having realized what his shift in demeanor was about. She was on home turf and she was the one who was going to control the conversation. "And, how am I even supposed to trust anything that you say," she retorted, going on to imply that it was his nature to make up stories.

"How are you . . .," Castle echoed back, at first being ready to let it become a full-blown argument but thought the better of it and continued with the confession of his feelings. "Because of everything we've been through together! It's going on four years, and I've been right here! Nearly four years just waiting for you to open your eyes to see that I'm right here! And that I am more than a partner. Every morning I bring you a cup of coffee just, so I can see a smile on your face because I think you are the most remarkable, maddening, challenging, frustrating person I've ever met. And I love you, Kate and if that means anything to you, if you care about me at all . . . just don't do this."

"If I care about you," she exhaled deeply, her chest becoming tight again. "Castle, you cut a deal for my life like I was some kind of a child. My life! Mine! You don't get to decide," she almost yelled it, such was the determination in her selfish reply.

"You keep going with this, they're gonna decide. They're gonna come for you, Kate," declared Richard in a controlled voice, so as to state the immutable truth of her situation.

"Let them come. They sent Coonan and he is dead. They sent Lockwood and he is dead; and I am still here Castle, and I am ready," Kate replied defiantly.

"Ready for what? To die for your cause? This isn't a murder investigation anymore, Kate. They've turned it into a war. A war with the 12th precinct as part of the battle ground. You know how Gates will view that . . .," Richard tailed off, his emotional energy now mostly drained with the realization that he was losing.

"If they want a war, then I will bring them a war, straight to their doorsteps," Kate continued unmoved by his pleas for peace.

"Well, I guess there's just nothing I can say, is there? Ok, um . . .Yeah, you're right, Kate," he stated in a quiet voice. "It's your life. You can throw it away if you want, but I'm not gonna stick around and watch you do it . . . so this relationship, whatever you want to call it. . . is over . . . all of it! . . . I'm done," he concluded, deeply saddened and emotionally spent.

He looked at her one last time, his heart sinking, his eyes getting moist, as she was still standing there breathing heavily from her outrage over the situation. He turned and let himself out of her apartment without another word. As he closed her door behind himself, he felt that the weight of the world, which she tended to carry on her shoulders, had somehow been shifted to his. He drove home carefully. The last thing he wanted was any contact with uniformed NYPD; because if it were to have occurred, he was sure it would not end well. He arrived home to find a portion of dinner had been set aside for him, but he had no appetite whatsoever. He glanced over toward the bar and saw a bottle of his favorite scotch still two-thirds full but resisted the temptation because he didn't want to ruin the moment for Alexis the next day by being severely hung over. Her cap and gown stood ready, hung up neatly in his office. He went over to it and let his hand run delicately down the tassel. Alexis had heard him come in and assumed he was eating dinner. She was surprised to find him in his office, standing next to her gown. He looked Okay, but he had also looked better. She didn't ask any questions. Rather, she remarked that she was somewhat nervous about the big day tomorrow, how the speech would turn out, and how everything that had become so familiar and comfortable was going to end. She was scared of the future.

"Tell me about it," Richard replied quietly, "you'll be Okay, my dear . . . don't fret."

Each retired to their own set of diversions until bedtime.

The next morning Kate was ready to pursue the case. The team had found a money trail, and with it, a few more key leads. They connected the dots and drew a name Castle already knew about. They had to keep things away from Captain Gates; otherwise the late Captain Montgomery would fall into ill repute. They also weren't supposed to be eating up time pursuing the case in the first place. Ryan and Esposito expected Castle to be showing up at any minute; when he did not, they inquired as to his whereabouts.

"He's off the case," Kate replied bluntly, and with the authority of a boss who had just fired an employee.

They were both shocked but said nothing. They put everything they knew together.

"Does Gates know anything at all about this," Kate asked, when they had moved well down the hallway and away from her office. Ryan and Esposito nodded a 'No'. "Then we don't tell her," Kate commanded.

Kevin began to have second thoughts. "With all due respect, this guy put a bullet in your heart and then he disappeared into the ether. You cannot go in there unprepared. I mean, shouldn't we arrange for some back up," Kevin offered.

"Unprepared? I've been preparing for this for the last thirteen years . . . and I'm not going to have anyone screwing it up," Kate replied firmly.

Kate and Esposito turned to leave on the mission. Kevin held back.

"This is so wrong.", he muttered to himself as they left.

Kate had staked out the building where her would-be killer, Cole Maddox, was believed to be hiding. At about 2:15 PM, she clocked him going in the side entrance off the alleyway. She radioed Esposito that she was ready. They went in pursuit together. There were two things the pair didn't know. First was that Maddox already had eyes on their respective positions, and had set up an ambush; and second, Kevin Ryan was fearing for their lives, so he was monitoring Esposito's radio channel. When he heard the communication, he dropped what he was doing and headed for Captain Gates' office. Kate and Javier burst into the room where Maddox was supposed to be staying. No one was there. As they were checking any signs of occupancy, Maddox slipped in behind them and got the drop on them. He didn't just shoot them; he wanted them to know who was coming to get them. Serious hand to hand combat ensued. Maddox got the better of Esposito, his gun went sliding across the floor as he received a kick-boxing move that rendered him unconscious. Kate had been thrown against the wall. Maddox headed for the roof. Kate, contrary to all her training, went in hot pursuit alone. Her blind desire to get the guy at all costs made her forget that she wasn't physically the woman she had been more than a year ago. She pushed ahead anyway. Maddox had class five close-combat training and Kate was no match for it, even if she had been concentrating on the best defense-attack strategies from her police training.

Meanwhile the Castle family was well into the graduation ceremony in another part of Manhattan. There was an empty seat on Richard's left, which made it hard for him to focus at first. Martha was on his right. They were seated in the second row from the front and had a very good view of Alexis as she started her speech. Richard put everything else out of his mind and listened intently to his daughter's words:

". . . There is a universal truth we all have to face whether we want to or not: everything eventually ends. As much as I've looked forward to this day, I've always disliked endings: the last day of summer, the final chapter of a great book, parting ways with a close friend. But endings are inevitable. Leaves fall, you close the book, you say goodbye. Today is one of those days for us. Today we say goodbye to everything that was familiar, everything that was comfortable. We're moving on, but just because we're leaving, and that hurts, there are some people who are so much a part of us they'll be with us no matter what. They are our solid ground, our North Star, and the small, clear voices in our hearts that will be with us, always."

As she finished, she flashed a broad smile to the audience more out of nerves than motive; and made a subtle wave to her father. He and Martha shared the proud moment with loud applause. The ceremony continued.

The Maddox-Beckett battle went for round two. Maddox had relieved Kate of her gun. She came at him tough as nails. He was tougher.

"Just tell me who's behind this," Kate panted.

"You're wasting your time, Detective. You have no idea what you're up against," he replied scornfully.

"Neither do you," she hissed, as she made a lunge for a counter attack.

He made a quick defensive maneuver to render it ineffective. He flipped her and sent her sprawling across the roof. Her momentum took her legs and hips over the edge of the parapet, which was only a few inches high while she instinctively caught herself and was left hanging helplessly; her fingers were the only things holding her from certain death. She was fifteen stories up; meanwhile Maddox looked down at her struggling on the edge.

"Actually, we know exactly who we're up against," he said coldly.

It was a wonder he didn't just stomp on her hands. He figured she'd drop soon enough. It would give him just enough time to disappear.

The next few minutes for Kate became eternity itself. Already the burning pain of fatigue was manifesting itself in her hands and fingers. She kept trying to get traction against the smooth brick with her feet. It wasn't working, in fact the struggle seemed to be making things worse. She glanced straight down. Way too far to survive. If she dropped, she'd accelerate faster than Castle's Ferrari – zero to sixty in less than two and a half seconds. She began to think about just getting it over with sooner than later. If someone didn't come soon, the end game would not be pretty. No. Impossible. There would be way too much time to realize what was coming. She would continue to hang on as long as she had the strength. She began to think again of all those times Lanie had tried to talk some sense into her about Richard Castle; and how he in turn, had tried to talk sense into her. 'We'll get them together . . . just not today' he had reasoned with her. She hadn't bothered to listen, and now here she was paying a dear price. Maybe, on a long shot, he would come to rescue her. Maybe someone had called him; maybe he was on his way.

"Castle!" she yelled at the top of her voice, its tone rising out of desperation.

She was hanging near the back corner of the building over an alley. No one could hear; no one could see but maybe he had seen her, maybe he was coming for her this very moment. He had always been there for her, except when she had pushed him away. She yelled again. A thousand things began crashing into her mind. Her father, the last image of her mother; her mother's grave, where she had just been earlier that day promising that justice would finally be served; then Castle, the team at work. The end was coming; her fingers began to slip. Tears filled her eyes. She was never going to see any of them again. As she was losing the last of her grip, strong hands grabbed her wrists and forearms.

"Castle," she called weakly hoping to see his face, hoping that he was her savior.

Two burly NYPD special forces officers had saved her and brought her back to the surface of the roof. Her hands were the source of her agony. She stood there nearly doubled over, hands clasped between her knees, breathing heavily, almost sick. As she raised her eyes, she also saw Javier Esposito, followed by Kevin Ryan, and standing there with arms akimbo, Captain Gates!

She rode back to the precinct locked in the back of the vehicle, in which the special forces officers had come. She was grateful that the traffic had become heavy and their progress was slow. As soon as they arrived on the 4th floor, Gates called Kate and Esposito into her office.

"You don't deserve to wear the uniform! Now hand over your badges and guns," she commanded in an angry voice.

Esposito complied. Kate just stood there hesitant.

"Detective Beckett?" Gates prodded.

Kate removed her gun from its holster and placed it on the desk. She had recovered it from the rooftop only an hour ago. She looked at her NYPD badge for several seconds. Then she pitched it on Gates' desk.

"Keep it. I resign," she said firmly.

Gates hadn't really expected that response but didn't argue. She accepted the resignation and put Esposito on a month's disciplinary furlough. Everyone else in the immediate vicinity of Gates' office made themselves scarce. Kate slowly made her way over to her desk, retrieved her tote bag from beneath, and loaded it with the few personal effects she kept at the precinct. As she was leaving she took one final glance at the homicide department bullpen; her eye rested on Castle's empty chair. When she exited the building it had become darker, not because of the hour, but because of the pending thunderstorm. She took her stuff home, but she certainly didn't want to remain there alone. She left immediately and began to wander the streets near her place, oblivious to the approaching storm. She roamed farther away, and soon found herself seated on the same swing set where she and Richard had tried to rekindle their shaky relationship. The storm finally broke. Rain poured down on her, but she didn't care. She was in disgrace – a complete failure, but it didn't matter anymore. She felt like a homeless person, so why not look the part? She ignored the thunder and lightning and began to think back on her police career; especially the last four years of it. Cases had come and gone – really twisted cases; a captain had come and gone; assistants had come and gone, but the one who had always been there for her, ever since she hauled him to the precinct that one fateful evening, was Richard Castle. Even when she hadn't wanted him around; he was there. When she really needed him but didn't admit it; he was there. And when she had been in crisis; he was there. 'Tomorrow?' he'd always ask, just hoping for the opportunity to see her again; and later 'Always' was added to the reply just to remind her. She got up and resumed her walk. The storm had swept across the city and was starting to abate.

"I'll be fine; I've got all my man toys here," Richard was telling Alexis over the phone as she was leaving for her big graduation party. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon. "Yes, and Gran's fine, she made it to the Hamptons Okay; she just called a while ago . . . OK, have fun, but be careful . . . bye," he concluded.

He no sooner finished the call, when his cell phone rang again. Kate Beckett's caller ID lit up. He looked at it in disgust. He not only hit the call ignore button, he also turned the phone off. He sat in the loft by himself and listened to the storm. He eyed the bottle of scotch from a distance. Finally, he went over to the bar and poured himself a hefty glass full. He had only taken one big sip, when he heard the front door buzzer. It seemed somewhat late for it, but perhaps it could be a surprise delivery for Alexis he guessed as he moved in that direction. He tugged the door open abruptly. Kate Beckett was standing outside, rain soaked from head to toe; the personification of the proverbial bad penny. It was a good thing the doorman knew who she was; otherwise he would have never let her into the building looking like that.

"What do you want," Richard questioned her, rather annoyed that she had chosen to show up.

He had already been working hard to convince himself to move on, to go out to the Hamptons and take time to get his head straight, to put her out of his mind. He had begun the process right after Alexis gave her speech. A little old grandmother had taken the empty seat beside him just before his daughter's speech began. Kate just stood there a moment. Castle waited for an explanation wearing an expression somewhere between a frown and bewilderment.

He became astonished as Kate moved toward him, threw her arms around him, and simply said:

"You!" in answer to his question.

He backed up slightly, with her in tow; the front door swung shut. She drew his head toward hers and kissed him.

"I'm so sorry, Castle. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," she kept repeating in a hoarse whisper as she drew him tightly to herself.

She kissed his lips, his forehead, his cheeks and his neck. She was in an emotional state even stronger than he had seen during any of their situations or previous moments of being in peril together.

"I'm so sorry . . . about last night . . . about everything that I've put you through," she continued.

Castle was no stranger to women coming on to him for various reasons. Had this moment occurred a couple of weeks later, he reasoned within himself, he supposed he would have been turned off by a sloppy, wet Kate Beckett throwing herself at him. But it had only been twenty-four hours between the time the doors to their hearts had been slammed shut and this moment when it seemed that those doors had been flung wide open again. Martha's comment about love not having a switch was proving itself correct. Strong feelings for Kate began welling up.

"What happened," he asked as genuine concern for her quickly replaced his annoyance. From the looks of things, it appeared to have been nothing good.

"He got away and I didn't care. I almost died and all I could think about was you. . . I just want you," she concluded.

After nearly four years, Castle was so happy to hear those words. They had unconsciously made their way toward Castle's bedroom and had sunk into a chair together with her on his lap. Castle decided he liked playing towel much better than coat rack.

"Who got away?"

"Maddox . . . Cole Maddox, my sniper . . . he got the drop on us . . . he nearly threw me off the roof. He left me hanging there to die, Castle . . . I called out to you because you always had my back."

"What about Ryan and Espo," he inquired, figuring they had to have been in on it with her.

"I was alone," she explained, "Maddox made a move on Espo and knocked him out," she whispered between sobs. "Oh Castle, all I could think about was you,"she whispered to him again, twisting her body to partially face him as she said it.

They were becoming uncomfortable. He motioned for her to get up. The wet clothes had to go; he gave her the hint as he began to unbutton her blouse. She finished the two remaining buttons and peeled it off and pitched onto the chair. Richard looked at her in the dim light. He ran his fingers lightly through the cleavage between her breasts. He found the slight indent of the scars the bullet and the operation had left. She felt him pause there, but she did not react. He had earned the right to know. She should have shown them to him long ago. He deserved to see more than those scars. She unhooked her bra and pitched it behind her. Richard heaved a long sigh and removed his wet shirt. The striptease continued until wet clothes were scattered about the room. They fell upon the bed. There, in real life, lay before him the image of what he had only imagined in a hazy sort of way when he had told her she could just go skinny dipping at the Hamptons. A complete body high, charged with nervous energy, gripped him as if this had been a flashback to his college days. He couldn't explain it, nor did he care to. They rolled together as one. The heat from his body and the feel of his bare skin against hers set her ablaze with passion. She was charged with years of frustrated sexual energy; many times, coming close in her relationships after college but never going all out. This night was going to be different. She made up her mind that whatever he had imagined about her, or about Nikki Heat, she was going to surpass it; page 105 of _Heat Wave_ , would be nothing in comparison. She had once teased him, telling him 'Castle, you have no idea. . .'; but tonight, was going to be a performance like no other. This was for real; this was playing for keeps. She wanted to be with him always . . . she wanted to show him that she meant it. The last thing she wanted to hear was that the experience might be placed in the category of 'deep fried Twinkie'. It was four years of energy not merely doubled but squared. They tore the place up; not once but several times during the course of the night. They finally fell into a deep sleep from sheer exhaustion. For Richard's part, the encounter had been off the charts. Kate awoke around 5:00 AM. The loft was dead quiet. Castle was on his side still sleeping soundly. She inched over and snuggled her bare back against his warm chest. She drifted off to sleep once more.


	17. Chapter 17

_A/N: I hope you enjoy the less choppy, plot-line tweaked, and somewhat improved version. In these next two chapters, we stay in the Castle Universe_ _with a narrative that stays mostly true to Season 5 episodes 1 and 10. Seems the Universe just can't leave those two alone . . ._

 _Disclaimer: I do not own Castle – all credit goes to Andrew Marlow and the writing team for ABC's Castle; my thanks to them for providing a foundation for this little exercise._

17

When Kate awoke around seven o'clock in the morning she realized she was in someone else's bed and then she remembered what had happened and why. She had no idea where most of her clothing had got to. She spied one of Richard's fresh shirts in the closet, quietly made her way over there and slipped it on. Richard was still sound asleep. From there she found her way to the bathroom and after having caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she decided her appearance needed some serious work. Kate understood that Martha was off to the Hamptons; and that Alexis should have still been with the throng of graduation celebrants. She decided to risk leaving the bedroom. She headed upstairs to the domain of the women, and thankfully found some tools of the beauty trade. She cleaned up her face and did away with the runny mascara; rinsed out her hair to untangle it; and took advantage of the blow drier along with a couple of hair brushes that appeared to belong to Alexis. Afterwards, she found her way downstairs to the kitchen and managed to find what she needed to make coffee. This morning was going to be different, she would be bringing it to him. She put together a nice presentation and headed back toward the bedroom.

Richard had sensed movement and smelled fresh coffee. He began to stir, looked around the room, and saw articles of clothing that clearly weren't his. Kate appeared and served the coffee.

"It is you . . . so it wasn't just a wild dream," Richard said, half joking and half serious.

"No, you definitely weren't dreaming," Kate replied with a smile, as she seated herself on the edge of the bed and handed him his cup of coffee.

He was still coming to grips with the reality of Kate Beckett sitting there beside him using one of his shirts as a nightgown. He couldn't take his eyes off her. He remembered their lovemaking.

"Well you were right, I had no idea," he began.

"So, you liked it?" she asked just to make sure.

"Yeah," was all he could manage in reply.

"Even the part where . . . I . . ." Kate teased, leaving the rest to his sense of recall.

"Especially that part, I loved that," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Me too," she cooed.

"Um, you are on board with this aren't you? . . . I mean this wasn't a case of I lost my job, I'm in crisis, I just needed somebody," he sincerely wanted to know.

"Oh, I'm on board with it," she affirmed, "but I did lose my job," she stated truthfully.

Neither of them had any place to be, even though it was a work day for most of the world. They started making plans on how to kill the rest of the day together. They began considering a repeat performance from the night before. Suddenly there was the unmistakable sound of the front door opening.

"Richard!" Martha called in a loud sing-song voice, "we're back."

"I thought she was supposed to be in the Hamptons!?" declared Kate.

"She was in the Hamptons . . . We're back," Richard exclaimed in a panic, "that means Alexis is here too? . . . Hide!" he commanded as he rolled off the bed and took cover behind it as if they were under attack.

He pulled Kate along with him. He grabbed the bed spread to cover himself; she clutched one of the pillows to her chest.

"Quick, get in the closet," he pleaded as Martha's voice was getting closer.

"I'm not going to hide in the closet," she objected in a panic.

He frantically motioned for her to get in there anyway. She complied but was annoyed with the whole state of affairs. This is probably just like the aftermath of enjoying 'deep fried Twinkies' she thought to herself – just what she hadn't wanted to happen. Martha entered the bedroom. Her son was standing beside the bed with the bed spread pulled across his front diagonally from shoulder to thigh. He looked like a Roman who couldn't make his toga fit properly. She began to snicker quietly as she watched the interchange. Martha got down to business.

"I wanted to talk to you about your daughter's many fine qualities . . .," Martha began.

"Do we have to do this now," Richard pleaded.

"And to remind you that our Alexis is a paragon of grace and good sense and maturity, although where she got those qualities I do not know," Martha went on getting more dramatic, having registered the state of her son's bedroom.

As she was talking, Richard noticed Kate's bra on the floor next to the bed. He discretely shifted his footing and kicked it out of sight.

"Right. I would just be so much more comfortable having this conversation with my clothes on," he replied sheepishly.

"Ah, right . . . Alexis and I will be waiting for you in the kitchen," she said looking like she had just been shocked back into reality.

Martha was indeed a theatrical piece of work. She could monologue with an eight-hundred-pound gorilla standing behind her and not miss a beat. After Martha had exited stage left, Kate winged the pillow at Richard in retaliation.

It turned out the reason for the impromptu visit was lack of communication. The graduation party had gotten way out of hand and Alexis had been caught up in it. She was nursing what appeared to be a class III hangover. She had only been able to reach Martha in the wee hours of the morning, so Martha found her way to Alexis, coming all the way from their place in the Hamptons to retrieve her. Kate was listening to the conversation in the kitchen as she hastily gathered her clothes and got dressed. Meanwhile Castle was running interference, so she could make a discrete exit. Having gotten home free, she sneaked out the front on the ground floor when the doorman's back was turned; hailed the first taxi coming by; and sunk low in the back seat on her way to her apartment. Either the driver was too new to have known what someone exiting a rave looked like; or he was well seasoned in the sights of NYC and knew better than to say anything. She tipped him handsomely for his discretion. Once safely hidden behind her own door and in the shower, she didn't know whether to be mad or happy about the whole thing. She decided to just go with the flow. After all, she had imagined what it would be like to live in the Castle loft; and a scene something similar to the circus atmosphere had crossed her mind. She remembered when Kevin Ryan was about to get married. The guys had been itching to give him a serious bachelor party when they heard the bad news that his best man was a sixteen-year-old member of the extended family. As luck would have it, a murder case in their precinct was connected to some goings on at a casino in Atlantic City, New Jersey. Esposito and Castle had taken Ryan with them on an IBPWC – impromptu bachelor party while on case, Castle called it. They had managed to get themselves thrown out of the casino while snooping around. Castle had taken advantage of the cover the 'Elvis Look-alike Contest' afforded. When Kate had arrived and saw the three of them dressed as Elvis, that's when she had decided life with Castle was akin to a circus. And Castle could sure play ring master. She remembered the bullet proof vest. He had purchased a special one for himself, but rather than "POLICE" it read "WRITER". He had the most childish grin on his face when he had pulled if from the wrapper.

Kate and Richard had become an item. An envelope, hidden in the back of the third drawer from the top of Vera Reilly's desk, in the holding department, had finally been opened and the winners of the office bet had been paid off. Lanie Parish received a healthy sum since she had doubled and re-doubled in the face of a couple of the major derailments. Kate was glad Lanie had collected. She remembered Lanie had lamented the sum she was going to lose if Richard had not shown up after that summer in the Hamptons. Time had passed. Kevin and Jenny were married. Lanie and Javier had given it a rest; and she and Richard were just starting for real. Kate spent the next six months of her life in secure happiness, which had overshadowed the few tense days in which the sniper still hunted her. His reckless mission to end her life and collect the bargaining chip had resulted in the end of his life. Kate had faced down the head guy. The dirty politician finally got what had been coming to him; and the dirty business behind her mother's murder had finally concluded. Kate was free to go on with her own life with no need to hide; and no need to run. That was until winter break.

Alexis had barely been able to finish the semester final exams. She was beginning to feel positively horrible; listless, unable to concentrate on anything, and always dead tired. She chalked it up to exam pressure. The doctor chalked it up to mononucleosis. Apparently, Max, her new boyfriend on campus, had given her the long-lasting gift for the holidays. Richard had commented that it wasn't called the kissing disease for nothing. He judiciously decided, for once, not to mention that she hadn't caught anything from kissing Ashley, her former boyfriend. Meredith had been checking up on her daughter to see how the first semester of college was going. She had also caught wind of Richard's new love affair through trading emails with Alexis. When she learned that Alexis was truly ill, she booked a flight to NYC. Originally the plan had been to sweep her off to Paris for a holiday, but NYC would have to do for the time being. Meredith knew the loft had a spare bedroom, so there shouldn't be any problems. She knew how to convince Richard it would be Okay. What she didn't know was that Kate Beckett had also decided to room with Richard in his loft apartment while hers was being fumigated to do away with unwholesome critters.

The morning dawned more or less routine for the Castle loft. Kate was getting ready to head out to the precinct. Alexis was resting on the couch, and something resembling a continental breakfast had been served. Life departed from routine with the sound of the front door buzzer. Martha went over to answer it while Richard and Kate were discussing plans for the day.

Martha, in her musical way of making important announcements, exclaimed "Richard! Your ex-wife is here."

Meredith, with baggage in tow, rolled in like she owned the place. She greeted everyone in a general way, rushed over to Alexis, fawned over her for a few minutes, and then confronted Richard about how she just had to stay and nurse Alexis back to health. Richard was having problems thinking on his feet. He glanced at Kate to see how she might have been taking it. Her look could best be translated as 'you've got to be kidding me, right?' It must not have been obvious enough. He relented. Castle only thought he had been saved by the bell when Kate's phone rang. They had a murder scene to visit.

As they were walking up to the scene together Kate gave Richard a piece of her mind.

"Why in the world did you let her stay," Kate moaned, "can't we have any peace together in that circus loft of yours?"

"Well, you didn't say anything against it, so I assumed you approved," Richard replied in defense.

"Hey, I'm not the one to be the bad guy here and say 'No' . . . besides, I gave you the look," Kate huffed.

"What look," Richard inquired, now truly clueless.

"The look . . . look, my look, the one that says I'm not in agreement. Please don't tell me that after four years you don't actually know that look," Kate exclaimed in true exasperation.

By this time Dr. Parish had caught sight of them. "Wow, someone's having a bad day," exclaimed Lanie as she studied Kate's expression.

"Men are clueless," Kate muttered.

"Men? Or just Castle," Lanie countered.

Richard received the glaring looks in stereo just so he would get the point and possibly recognize one in the future.

"Well, however your day has been going, it's certainly not as bad as Michele Twohey here. The cause of death was an ice pick to the neck," Dr. Parish explained.

"Ms. Twohey, the high-profile divorce attorney who only represents women, and strikes fear into the hearts of their soon to be ex-husbands," inquired Castle.

"Yeah, that one," replied Lanie.

They began the investigation procedure just like hundreds of times before. Ms. Twohey had a slip of paper with an address written on it. Dr. Parish had estimated time of death. They began looking for witnesses, surveillance devices, and who lived at that address. Kate also had Ryan start searching to see if any of the men in a current divorce case had threatened her regarding the outcomes. Meanwhile, Dr. Parish had transported the body back to the city morgue. After they had returned to the precinct, Lanie summoned Kate to the morgue. Richard, thinking he better make peace sooner than later, excused himself and headed back to the loft to try to get Meredith to reconsider. When Kate arrived at the morgue examination room, Lanie had some advice to go along with the findings for the case.

"Kate, you can't just stand by and let her stay there . . . this is _Meredith_ we're talking about . . . you know that deep fried Twinkie Castle has ex-sex with, when she rolls into town," Lanie exclaimed, "you've got to establish some boundaries, this is a war girl, and guess who's losing."

"Well, I don't think he's going to have sex with her . . . um, this time around . . . maybe you're right," Kate admitted.

"Maybe? . . . Of course I'm right!"

Of course Lanie is right Kate began reasoning to herself, she wondered if anyone might offer fumigation services to remove redheads from an apartment. The first fifteen minutes with Meredith had been more than enough; how was she going to get through the next couple of days? she went on thinking, having trouble getting into the details of the murder case. Amongst all of that, Laine had informed Kate that someone else's blood had been found on the corner of square button on Ms. Towhey's blazer. There might have been a struggle. She would know more after an examination for lividity.

On the way back to the loft, Castle was making a serious examination of his situation, which certainly didn't look good. He was clearly between the proverbial rock and a hard place. He certainly did not want Meredith to put Kate on bad terms with him; not after that four-year struggle to get on really good terms. Nevertheless, he was having trouble figuring out how to get her out of the loft after he had already said 'Yes', kind of. If those four years of dealing with Kate had taught him anything it was how to start a serious conversation. He convinced himself he could have a serious conversation with Meredith. He found her in the kitchen. Alexis had moved from the couch back upstairs to her own room. Martha had become scarce.

"Wow, I see you've gotten busy . . . practicing up on our domestic skills, are we," he began.

She gave him her best smile.

"Listen, Meredith, about you staying here . . .," he said, broaching the subject.

"Oh, thanks again, Richard, I can't tell you how much this means to me," she interjected with perfect timing. If there was anything about acting that she had mastered, it was how to finish other people's sentences for them.

Richard tried again "Yeah, it's just, Beckett and I are . . ."

"Wonderful! It's so refreshing to see how secure you two are in your relationship. You know, most women would take issue with an ex-wife staying with her boyfriend, but not Kate Beckett - she gets it."

"Yeah, Kate gets it," Richard echoed back, a hint of sarcasm creeping into his tone, "Um, here's the thing, Meredith, I think . . ."

"Oh, I know, and it isn't easy for me to admit. I haven't been the best of mothers. I've missed so much of our daughter's life, so the fact that you're letting me be here now for Alexis during her time of need, Richard. I'll never, ever forget this."

"Neither will Beckett," said Richard, while rolling his eyes. His serious conversation was seriously lacking the desired result.

"I was just preparing some soup for Alexis . . . you want some? . . . it's almost lunchtime," Meredith concluded.

Richard declined. Again, Meredith thanked Richard for allowing her to make up lost time with Alexis. She put on her best teary-eyed act and went upstairs with the soup. Castle stood there in defeat, wondering what he was supposed to do next.

Castle skipped lunch and headed back to the precinct. He had a plan. Since he couldn't get the redheads out of the loft, he decided that he and Kate would move out for a few days until Kate could return her own apartment. Problem solved . . . but only from one point of view. It didn't take long for Kate to realize that Richard had not been successful in ousting Meredith. Since the 'look' hadn't worked, she'd have to try something else. Ryan supplied her with fuel in short order. He had been looking into possible angered parties in the divorce cases Ms. Twohey had handled in the recent past.

"You know it might not have been an angry ex-husband who had motive to kill Ms. Twohey but an angry ex-wife.

Records here indicate that Samantha Voss, one of her clients, lost big time in her divorce case . . . and get this, the blood on that button, matches Samantha's," Ryan reported proudly.

By this time Esposito had joined the team.

"Oh wow, imagine that . . . a troublesome ex-wife," Kate exclaimed with obvious sarcasm.

Knowing Castle had gone through two divorces Esposito tested the waters, "Ever get that bad with either of your exes?"

Kate watched them both.

"No, both my divorces were amicable," Castle reported, smiling proudly.

"Yeah, a little too amicable," Kate added, as she shot the 'look' toward Richard.

Meanwhile Samantha Voss and her ex-husband, Walter, were being escorted into the precinct's interrogation room, having been arrested for unruly conduct when Kate had paid them a visit at their former residence. Kate took her leave. Esposito and Ryan knew something was up. After Kate was out of hearing range, they pounced.

"Bro, what was that," they asked in unison.

"What was what?" Castle replied trying to evade the subject.

"Your girlfriend makes an obvious sarcastic comment about troublesome ex-wives; and you tell us it's nothing," Ryan countered.

"Really guys, it's . . ."

"Nothing? . . . Come on Castle! . . . Spit it out," commanded Esposito, grabbing him soundly.

"Well," Castle began to explain, "Beckett is having her apartment fumigated and needed a place to stay . . . Alexis is sick . . . and on top of all of that my first ex-wife, Meredith showed up unannounced, to help take care of Alexis."

"And you said No," added Esposito, finishing his sentence, while ginning at him broadly. Castle didn't respond. "Tell me you said No," prodded Esposito again as his smile vanished.

Ryan and Esposito stood there in shock. Here was a guy who could uncover some of the most twisted and subtle motives in a murder case but was currently unable to gauge the climate in his own apartment.

"Castle, letting an ex stay with you while you're with someone else? That's like throwing gasoline on fireworks," exclaimed Esposito with nervous excitement.

"C'mon guys. It's not that bad," Richard countered, trying to minimize the damage while Ryan looked on in dismay.

Espo sounded the warning again. "Castle, you are on the edge of a very, very steep cliff, my friend."

"And, if you don't do something about it quick," added Ryan.

They looked at him for a moment for effect, then they both pointed thumbs down while making the familiar whistling sound of bombs dropping from the sky. Richard appreciated their helpful insight, but he was counting on his clever plan to solve things. Meanwhile the subject changed when someone yelled over to the team, wondering if the one with the last name Voss was any relation to Karl Voss down in the robbery department. Given the money involved, it didn't appear that they ran anywhere near the same circles.

As the afternoon grew late, Castle put in a call to his favorite concierge at the Four Seasons Hotel in uptown Manhattan and arranged for a suite, complete with strawberries and fine wine. Problem solved, he congratulated himself as he terminated the call. He wandered over toward the murder board. The Voss case had yielded nothing – at least no clear motive. Samantha had admitted to struggling with Michele, thus the blood, but only because she hadn't been concentrating on the case like her client had expected. She had been distracted and upset on the day of the final hearing. Ms. Twohey had also been reported arguing with a boyfriend, named Corey Francis. Ryan and Esposito came up to them saying Francis' cell phone was disconnected and that his name and address had been faked. Again, the three NYPD employees were cast into another spell of wonderment, when Richard, who couldn't seem to see the Meredith-Kate explosive mixture under his own nose, noted that Francis had been wearing a college ring that looked like he had been an alumnus of the University of New York. Kate suggested they pull the past yearbooks to try to find Francis' real identity. Ryan offered to do it, but given the late hour, he suggested a fresh start in the morning. Castle took the moment to launch his plan.

He turned to Kate "I say we try to figure out what Michele has been up to while we enjoy our suite at the Four Seasons tonight."

"Really, Castle, you're sending me to a hotel," Kate reasoned, "it's where you should have sent Meredith in the first place."

"I know; I know . . . but it just seems kind'a heartless to send her to one while she wants to take care of Alexis."

"But you just tried to send me to one."

"Yes, but the difference is that we'd be there together."

"Nope. Button up kitten, because we're going home" Kate said with conviction.

This time she was determined to follow Lanie's advice. And that 'kitten' part; she remembered from somewhere in the past that Richard had asked her never to call him kitten. In the future, when the 'look' didn't work' she'd make sure to throw in 'kitten' for extra effect.


	18. Chapter 18

_Disclaimer: I do not own Castle – all credit goes to Andrew Marlow and the writing team for ABC's Castle; my thanks to them for providing a foundation for this little exercise._

18

Meredith may have had many character flaws, but outright stupidity wasn't one of them. She had kept out of sight until the next morning. When she chose to appear; however, she had no qualms about making herself right at home. When Kate arrived at the kitchen, she found Meredith and Richard already there and Meredith had already prepared coffee and Richard was just about to try it.

"Wow, that's pretty good!" he exclaimed taking a sip, "did you . . . did you put nutmeg in it," he questioned enthusiastically, remembering the taste from a long time ago.

"Yes, I did," chirped Meredith, "I used to do that for him when he pulled all-nighters back at college," Meredith announced proudly as she turned toward Kate. "It gives it a little extra kick," she added, "you want to try some?"

"No thanks, I think, I've already had enough kick for the morning," Kate intoned.

Meredith added to the kick by crossing her bare legs while sitting on the high stool at the breakfast bar. She had on a camisole and what appeared to be women's boxers – that was it. Kate chalked it up to a casual LA lifestyle or Meredith's desire to recapture the good old college days. Fortunately work awaited them at the precinct allowing Kate to scoop up Richard and make their exit before the intimate apparel fashion show could progress to another level.

"Is this as bad as you thought it would be," Castle asked, referring to the crowded apartment as he gave Kate a worried look.

"No, but I don't know how many more days I can tolerate of her parading around in her underwear," Kate replied.

"Right, I'll get her to work on that," Richard replied back.

"I thought you were supposed to be working on getting her to stay in a hotel," Kate reminded him.

"Yeah" Castle replied with resignation mixed with defeat.

"Listen, Castle . . . I really do love you . . . and I assume you still really love me . . .," Kate began as she looked at him with a serious expression, but not the 'look'.

"Absolutely," Richard quickly replied.

"So, I'm going back to my apartment after tonight, but Meredith seems to be planning on staying with Alexis for who knows how many more weeks. So, do you think having your ex-wife, parading around in her underwear, at your loft, for a long time, while I'm not there, is a good mental picture to leave me with," Kate reasoned.

"Hotel it is," Richard replied without hesitation.

The search through the New York University yearbooks had yielded results. Ryan reported that the man previously identified as Cory Francis was actually Noah Kesswood, a successful NY businessman but Kesswood proved to be elusive. The only additional information that tied back to him was that he had spent a number of years as an Army Intelligence Officer; and that the only other information was a couple of wire transfers to a company in his name from a law firm: Miller, Schuster & Meyers, which had occurred right about the time, he, as Cory Francis, began dating Michele Twohey. Castle and Beckett began to spin the theory that a rival attorney must have paid Kesswood to spy on Twohey; she found out about it and threatened to report the attorney, who then had Kesswood kill Twohey. Ryan and Esposito had questioned Mr. Schuster, a partner in the law firm. He denied paying anyone to kill Twohey and arrogantly told them it was a client of his who asked him to hire Kesswood to spy on Twohey. He didn't know the reasons behind it; and he certainly wasn't going to say which client.

While they were all still clustered around the murder board, Kate's cell phone rang. Kate didn't recognize the number.

"Hello? . . . Oh Meredith, Castle's right here," Kate replied when she figured out who it was. "Oh, you want to talk to me? . . . Okay. Hmm, I see. Okay, I don't see why not, what did you have in mind? . . . Yeah, I'll meet you there," she said as she pressed the call end button.

Castle had been looking on intently the whole time trying to figure out what was going on.

"That was strange," Kate said in an off-hand way.

"What was strange," Richard wanted to know.

"She asked me out to dinner with her, just the two of us."

"And you told her 'No," Richard shot back.

"No, I didn't tell her 'No', I accepted," Kate said.

"You what?"

"Castle, to have told her 'No' would have made me look insecure about our relationship," Kate concluded, as she headed back to her desk to check something on the computer.

Since Ryan and Esposito had pretty much heard the whole thing, Castle escorted the two of them to the break room for a conference.

"Does this look as bad as it seems," he questioned the two.

"Oh, no . . . it's much worse," stated Espo. "Just dinner between your ex-wife and your new girlfriend. That's deadly."

"Castle, you have two worlds . . .," Ryan began to explain.

"Yeah, two," Espo added for effect.

"And right now, they're both coming together," Ryan continued.

"Uh oh!" Espo interjected in a sing-song voice like a fifth grader.

"You know what happens when worlds collide," Ryan went on.

"Boom!" said Espo, adding the sound effects.

"Really guys, I think you're making too much of it. They're two grown-ups having dinner together," Castle reasoned in his own way.

"Castle! . . .," Espo exclaimed in a harsh whisper, "Meredith knows things about you!"

"Yeah, so?"

"So, is there anything Meredith knows that you don't want Beckett to know?"

Richard thought about the ramifications of the dinner date as a horrified look slowly spread across his face.

"Boom!" repeated Espo.

"Yeah, two worlds colliding," repeated Ryan.

Castle left them there and immediately went out to find Beckett. She had returned to the murder board.

"You know, I've never really noticed how nice your penmanship is when you're making entries on the murder board," he said, trying to find a way to broach the subject of redheads again.

"Nice try Castle, what's bothering you now," she replied, seeing right through his motives.

"Are you sure you really want to go to dinner tonight with Meredith? I mean she's crazy, not to mention overly-dramatic," Richard sighed.

"Castle, I don't know what you're worried about; after all, it's just two people with whom you've been intimate, coming together to share their experiences."

"Right," he said with a nervous chuckle. Kate just smiled at him and turned her attention back to the murder board.

"Well, there may be something going on here," said Ryan as he walked toward them, "I think you'll like this. It turns out that Miller, Schuster & Meyers represented champion golfer, Billy Piper, and our Ms. Twohey represented his wife, Leann in her divorce case."

"Oh, I remember something about that," said Castle, "it was a big deal in the news a few years back; they were on their boat together somewhere, and he claimed that she got drunk and must have fallen overboard, but he was suspected for her murder."

"Right," added Ryan, "so it was Mr. Schuster who represented Billy Piper in his trial for the murder of his then ex-wife." "It's also interesting that Ms. Twohey started looking back into that murder case last month," Ryan reported.

"Well that must be it," Castle exclaimed, "Billy Piper was found not guilty, but Michele must have found new evidence that could prove he really did it; so Billy killed Michele to keep that evidence from coming to light."

"Yeah, but that doesn't fully explain Kesswood," Espo called over from his desk, as he started back in their direction with some notes, "because we were able to pull information on the license plate from the car he was driving when he left Ms. Twohey, after their argument, but it traces back to some pharmaceutical company."

"Well, we still have some work to do; Ryan and Espo, you track down that company and Kesswood; meanwhile, Castle and I will pay a visit to Mr. Piper," Kate concluded authoritatively.

Neither location was anywhere close to the precinct making the investigative work eat up most of the day; but it did yield results. In Mr. Piper's case, it had been a long commute for a rather short interview since a very bitter Mr. Piper had filled them in on his version of the story; how the boat trip was supposed to have been to try to rekindle their marriage, not to kill Leann. He resented being implicated in yet another murder seeing how he had lost all his endorsements, and his family had disowned him. He threw Kate and Richard out. Meanwhile Ryan and Esposito tracked down the vice president of that pharmaceutical company. They noted his framed diploma from New York University on a wall in his office; and yes, Noah Kesswood had gone there with him. It turned out that Kesswood was staying with him temporarily and was allowed to use one of the company cars. Later, Ryan and Esposito caught Kesswood as he was leaving his friend's place. Kesswood tried to make a run for it and ended up under arrest.

He was waiting in the interrogation box when Kate and Richard arrived back at the station. Kesswood was smug. He confidently announced his alibi as being at his alma mater's basketball game, so he couldn't possibly have killed Ms. Twohey. He singled out Kate and told her they needed to take a short break to get a soda. Kesswood was obviously involved in all kinds of stuff that he was not at liberty to divulge, but he appeared to want to cooperate. At the vending machine, away from the cameras and microphones, Kesswood explained that Billy Piper was always paranoid, but became even more so when Ms. Twohey had paid him a visit a month ago, saying she was very close to figuring out what had really happened that night on his boat, because of information she had pulled from the DEA. Ryan took advantage of the break in the action to check out Kesswood's alibi. There was visual evidence that he had been seated at the game. Upon learning that, Kate thanked Mr. Kesswood and released him. She asked Ryan to start digging into what Ms. Twohey was doing with the DEA.

"It's rather late, I don't think we'll find anything more until morning," Ryan suggested.

They decided to end the day on time for a change.

"Well, you ready to go home," Castle asked Kate.

"Aren't you forgetting? . . . I have a dinner date with your ex-wife tonight," Kate replied with a smirk.

"No, I'm not forgetting . . . I was hoping you would," he replied, "I guess I'll see you back at the loft . . . don't stay out too late."

Richard Castle found his way back home and spent the evening with his mother. The experience was among the longest four hours on the planet he could recall. Where are they? he kept wondering silently. After he and Martha had finished their dinner, Richard complained that he couldn't calm down.

"Have another glass of wine darling . . . it works for me," his mother quipped.

She then got up to go check on Alexis. Wine didn't help and neither did trying to make himself busy in his office. He bemoaned the fact that he always somehow seemed to get into such predicaments when women were involved.

"What you _shouldn't_ have done was let Meredith stay here in the first place. This isn't a flop house, darling. You've gotta stop letting freeloaders just live here," Martha stated, the wine clearly affecting her attitude.

"Please tell me you see the irony," was all Richard could say in response.

Kate and Meredith arrived just before eleven o'clock, both giggling heartily as they entered the loft together.

"Oh, that was a great story . . .," Kate offered between giggles.

Castle looked over at Meredith. "What story, what did you tell her?" Richard asked, as paranoia began to take hold.

"The truth, Richard," Meredith exclaimed with all the dramatic flair she could muster. It sounded like a line out of Broadway musical.

Kate decided to join in "Castle, you're not the man that I thought I knew."

Castle lost it. "I'm the man you thought you knew! I'm the man you know! I thought you…you think…I know you…I'm . . ." his performance made them both giggle harder yet.

"See, didn't I tell you that's what he'd do . . . he always does that when he gets really nervous . . .," Meredith whispered to Kate between breaths and giggles.

Castle looked at them both. "This is so not cool," he groaned, as he imagined the range of stories they could have shared.

Martha looked on with great amusement. Since work awaited them in the morning, each found their way to their respective beds. Back in the privacy of his bedroom, Richard implored Kate to share something about the evening. Kate teased him for another five minutes or so.

"Castle, as much as I would enjoy torturing you with this a little longer . . . I'll just say, that after what I've heard tonight . . . it makes me love you even a little bit more," she finally admitted. She knew she needed to calm him down if she were to have any chance of getting some sleep herself. "But, in the future . . . she never stays here again," Kate added as they were getting ready to turn out the lights.

"Goes without saying," he replied.

As they emerged from the break room, coffees in hand, Ryan told Kate and Richard that Ms. Twohey had been interested in the DEA's Caribbean drug interception efforts which tracks boats in the area using satellite photos. She had combed their database and found a photo taken the night of Leann Piper's death, which showed another boat not far from Billy's.

"Here's the kicker," added Ryan, "the registration number is readable; it looks like Ms. Twohey caught onto something when this second boat here was listed amongst the assets of none other than Walter Voss, Samantha's ex-husband."

They got no help from Walter Voss, except the admission that he and Billy Piper had been friends; and yes, members of the same yacht club. Walter Voss lawyered up. Ms. Twohey had seen Billy Piper, Walter Voss, Noah Kesswood, and was going to see an R. Garrison before her demise. Esposito had been working on the phone records of all of them on or about the day of Ms. Twohey's murder. It turned out that Walter Voss had placed a call to the Garrison residence the morning after the murder.

"Espo, where's that photo of Jane Garrison, the one you told Ryan about, declaring how hot she looked . . .," Castle said with a grin. Castle put Jane Garrison's and Leann Piper's photos side-by-side. "Call me crazy, but that appears to be the same woman . . . so Leann Piper is still very much alive," he concluded.

"And I think we know where to find her," effused Kate.

Some hours later, they had Jane Garrison in one of the conference rooms. Kate claimed it was just more of a social visit; they only needed some clarification on couple of details. Jane was enjoying coffee courtesy of the NYPD. Kate strategically placed a large photo of Leann Piper on the conference table for Jane to look at. She studied Jane's expression.

"Here, let me get that for you," Kate offered, taking Jane's mostly finished coffee cup. But instead of setting it aside, she poured the last sip out and dropped the cup in a plastic evidence bag.

"You know, you can change your looks, you can change your ID, you can even try to change your past ," Castle began.

"But you can't change your fingerprints Leann," Kate said, finishing the sentence.

"I'm sure there's some mistake," Jane said, continuing with the ruse.

"No, there's no mistake . . . you were . . . rather, still are Leann Piper," Kate continued, "so why don't you tell us what happened?"

Leann finally admitted that faking her death was the only way she saw to disgrace Billy since he destroyed her reputation when she filed for divorce. She had worked it out with Walter; that once Billy was asleep after drinking, she'd jump onto his boat and disappear. She had met Rob Garrison, and fell in love with him, but then Twohey discovered the plot and felt that Billy deserved to be cleared.

"So, you killed her with an icepick," Kate stated tersely.

Leann hung her head. "Of all people . . . why couldn't she have just left things alone," she said in a muffled voice.


	19. Chapter 19

_A/N: I hope you enjoy the less choppy, plot-line tweaked, and somewhat improved version. Seems like Kate just can't leave well enough alone . . . as we depart from canon and explore a situation between episodes._

 _Disclaimer: I do not own Castle – all credit goes to Andrew Marlow and the writing team for ABC's Castle; my thanks to them for providing a foundation for this little exercise._

19

The work day at the precinct ended a little earlier than usual. Kate took advantage of it and had Richard escort her back to the loft. She needed to gather her things and finally re-inhabit her own apartment. She loved Richard, but at the same time, she looked forward to a couple of days of rest before the weekend. When they arrived back at the loft, the three redheads were going about their business as usual. Alexis' condition had improved over that of the previous days. As Kate finished collecting her personal belongings and was wheeling the suitcase out of Castle's bedroom, he asked her if she was really sure she wanted to leave.

"Do you want me here because you actually want me here . . . or do you need protection from the redheads," Kate inquired.

Castle looked at her warmly. "A little of both," he replied sincerely.

"I'm sure I'll find a way to protect you ," she teased.

Apparently, Martha had taken pity on her son, after seeing the double-teaming Richard had endured the night before. She had a long talk with Alexis; and had convinced her that Meredith needed to be elsewhere, a concept which Alexis understood perfectly. Alexis, in turn, had been working on Meredith all morning; and even helped her get plane tickets to Paris. So, as Richard and Kate were having their goodbye discussion, Meredith was on her way downstairs to begin getting things together. She was followed by Martha; and Alexis, who was still pleading with her mom to forget about her daughter's problems and enjoy Paris without her. Castle just couldn't leave things alone. He began defending Meredith's case, but finally registered the frantic efforts from both Martha and Alexis; strongly hinting that he shut up. He stopped and looked back at Beckett sheepishly. She shot him the look. While standing at the bottom of the stairs, Meredith realized she had left her purse upstairs. Castle offered to go get it for her.

Once again, Meredith and Kate were alone with one another. "You know, when I heard from Alexis about her sickness, and that Richard was in a relationship with you, I not only wanted to help her; but I just had to come and check out his relationship with you. And you know, you're both great together," Meredith admitted.

Kate was oddly at peace with her at that moment. "Why didn't it work out between you and Rick? I'm sorry. Is that too personal," Kate asked all at once.

"No, no, it's fine. You know, being married to Richard was great, full of romance and excitement, like a deliciously sweet soufflé. And then one day I realized he knew everything about me, my deepest secrets, my worst pain, enough to fill a million novels. But I didn't know enough about him to even write a pamphlet," Meredith summarized.

"I don't understand," said Kate.

"For instance, whenever I asked him about how he felt about never knowing his father; he would smirk, you the way he smirks, and then he would throw out a quip and change the subject. Our marriage went one way. It wasn't enough for me. I mean, soufflés are wonderful, but sooner or later they always fall. Oh, but that was a long, long time ago, what, sixteen years in fact; I don't remember. He's a totally different man now," she concluded, trying to make Kate feel at ease.

One thing many tourists search out in Manhattan is the large, cast bronze, statue of the 'Charging Bull'. It's actually south of Wall Street, located in the vicinity of 26 Broadway. It has been there throughout Kate's lifetime. The city pollution maintains a mostly brown, mixed with a hint of green, patina on the metal, with the exception of a few places where people just can't resist touching it. The bright golden bronze metal shows through on its nose; and from behind where it accentuates what makes the bull, the bull, and not a cow. Common decency tells one not to go there; but many seem to go there just the same. It wasn't a walk past the 'Charging Bull' that drew Kate into the danger zone; rather, it was the nagging recall of Meredith's comments on why she had divorced Richard. Was he really a changed man; or was he always going to be an easy-going playboy? Yet, he had certainly seemed as sincere as could be when he had asked her if she was on board with their change from platonic to carnal. Nearly seven of the most wonderful months she had ever spent in her entire life had flown by, and now she had to start that reasoning.

The neurotic side of Kate Beckett didn't have enough to think about. That was the problem. She had taken the time to visit her father recently. He was doing well; and was happy to know his daughter was so happy. She had visited her mother's grave several times since the rooftop experience and had thanked the powers that be for closure on that long chapter. She had risen above calls or visits from Meredith, Gina, and Richard's publicity agent; not to mention the sudden appearance of some female fan, who recognized her boyfriend, while they had been out in public together. Kate had regained her job with NYPD. She had to serve the one-month disciplinary furlough, but at first, it didn't look like that would even have been possible. She had resigned in the heat of the moment, forgetting that there had been a hiring freeze at the NYPD due to budget problems. Castle had called Mayor Weldon and convinced him that the 12th precinct was in desperate need of a seasoned homicide specialist; and to have the commissioner look into making an exception during the hiring freeze. Everything had been worked out and there was nothing to worry about; and maybe that's why Kate had invented something.

What if Richard had not known the mayor? Where would she be? She began to envision herself as a 'kept woman', hanging around Castle's loft with not much to do, which was ironic because that's exactly what she had done during her mandatory furlough. They had let their whims take them wherever and whenever. Without work, she would have to give up her own apartment. She decided she was probably too old and out of shape to re-start a modelling career – not that she even wanted to. She remembered the last time she had ridden the motorcycle with Josh. Maybe she needed to get away; ride the motorcycle out west for a couple of weeks, just to see what life would be like without Richard Castle. Then reality struck - as a recent re-hire for the NYPD, she had no vacation time; and to ask for unpaid leave would not send the right message, especially to someone like Captain Gates. Hadn't Gates mentioned more than once that she wanted to see how Kate performed without Richard Castle around? What she still had were the weekends. She decided to spend several of them without seeing Richard. The only problem was; she didn't bother to tell him why.

The first weekend of her absence caused only a minor blip on Richard Castle's radar. He reasoned that something personal had come up. The only thing that really had bothered him was that she had not answered his calls or returned his messages. On Monday, they met at the precinct as usual, and the good morning coffee was as usual, but the case load was light. Kate had explained that she had decided to leave her cell phone off for the weekend since she wasn't on call. Richard said he'd go back to the loft and try to get some writing done. Later in the week, Richard received an unpleasant surprise upon visiting the precinct. After morning coffee, he discovered that Beckett and Gates had conspired to get him assigned to one of the other all-male homicide teams based across the hall near Lieutenant Whitefield's office. Kate had explained that Gates thought a change of pace would be good for the teams. He wasn't in a position to argue. He didn't want to try Gates' patience, knowing that she knew the reasons behind Kate's re-hire at the 12th. The nature of the work put them on different schedules and at opposite ends of the precinct for the next few weeks. Kate Beckett had become scarce and Richard became deeply affected.

Martha certainly noticed it because this time the flip of the switch had not been intentional on Richard's part; like the instance when they had been covering the Boylan Plaza bomb incident. She could tell her son was deeply disturbed merely by noting the evidence in his office. One afternoon, while he went out to the park for a break, he left his writing work up on the big screen; the one he also used as an electronic murder board; however, this time he had developed a new story board page and it wasn't about Nikki Heat. It was a whole new concept and it looked as if he was attempting to leave murder mysteries behind. Martha wondered if this had something to do with Kate; or Gina; or both. When he returned just before dark, cold and generally uncomfortable, she brought him a glass of red wine and confronted him.

"So, how's Kate?" she began.

"That's just it . . . I wish I knew," Richard sighed.

"Oh, not again . . . things were going so well between you two," his mother said empathetically.

"I just don't get it . . . she's made herself scarce on purpose; it's like she's avoiding me and won't tell me why. They even got me assigned to a different homicide team," Richard confessed.

"Well that sounds familiar . . . weren't you the one torturing her last time around? . . . at least you can still go to the precinct," Martha offered.

"I've done hundreds of stupid things in my life . . .," he continued.

"Thousands," Martha interrupted.

"OK, thousands . . . but only hundreds as far as Kate Beckett is concerned . . . and I've managed to sincerely apologize for the real serious ones. I don't know what I said or did to cause this," he lamented, as he continued to puzzle over the current state of affairs as he finished the wine. "Please call me when dinner's ready," he said as he retreated to his office.

Martha decided that finding her way to the kitchen was the wisest course of action.

There was nothing like a New York winter to remind a NYPD homicide detective that indoor work was a blessing. And there was nothing like Dr. Perlmutter to remind Richard Castle that he would rather be dealing with Dr. Parish during visits to the ME's office. For some reason, his current homicide team assignment brought him in contact with Perlmutter; whereas, Kate's team usually got Dr. Parish. Castle began to wonder if Gates had something to do with it. However, on this particular afternoon, the Universe had favored him, and he had crossed paths with Lanie, who had a few minutes to spare.

"Dr. Parish, long time no see . . . I had forgotten how good you look in pink medical scrubs," he jeered.

"Shut it Castle," she replied.

"Okay, on a serious note for once . . . have you been able to talk to Kate recently?"

"Of course! She's spent the last couple of weekends with me, which is strange, because she usually spends all her weekends with you," Lanie went on to say, "come to think of it, how did you end up on separate teams?"

"Seems to be another mystery of the Universe . . . and one I cannot solve; at least without your help," said Castle, taking advantage of the segue.

"Lanie, please listen . . . I'm in sore straights here. Could you please talk to her and find out what's going on in her head? I don't know if it was something I said, or did, but lately she feels life must be better without me," he implored.

"Castle, as far as it being something you said, that could fill a book; and as for being something you did, that could be anything . . . but Okay, let me see what's going on."

"Thanks, I owe you hot chocolate and a bear claw," he said as he turning to leave.

Castle had no sooner disappeared down the corridor, when Kate, who had been waiting in the other examination room, came out looking for Lanie. Dr. Parish was on a mission and didn't waste any time getting to the point.

"What have you got?" asked Kate.

"I tell you what I have . . . or rather what you have . . . and it's a problem! My place. Tonight. After work. Dinner. No excuses, you hear me," Lanie commanded.

"Got it. Now what about our victim," Kate went on to ask, as they entered the room together.

NYC was getting a light dusting of snow as people were finding their way home from work, true to form, most commuters paid it no mind. Kate caught the subway from the precinct to the stop nearest Lanie's apartment. The sidewalks were slippery but passable. A touch of salt would most likely solve the problem she thought hoping the city maintenance crews would take care of it before her return home. Lanie had taken her leave from work a good hour early so as to prepare for the evening. It included a stop for take-out food; and a stop for wine.

"Come in!" Lanie yelled, as the front door buzzer sounded. "Well, I'm glad you made it. Girl, we've got to talk, cuz there's something you're not tell'n me."

"Yeah, I know . . . I figured that might be what this meeting's about," Kate answered back as she hung up her coat and removed her boots.

"Well, let's not be all business just yet . . . here I think you need one of these," Lanie said as she handed Kate a glass of cabernet. "Oh, and I got a selection of Cantonese items here . . . perhaps not the best combination with cabernet, but it's the best I could do in a pinch."

"It will do just fine, I'm starving . . . didn't have lunch, you know," Kate replied.

"Good, let's eat . . . because the fewer times it goes into the microwave, the better," Laine commented. "Kate, I'll let you go first. Help yourself. Take the edge off . . . and then we can talk about what you've been up to."

Kate took the suggestion. "Here's to a good evening" Kate said as they raised their wine glasses in unison. They both took long, slow sips. "I know, I know . . . you're going to tell me something's up. And you're right, I've been acting like the old Kate Beckett . . . the one from a couple of years ago. And you're right, it started like that just after the deep-fried Twinkie, Meredith told me something. Hey, but at least I took your advice. I made sure the turf was marked, and I made sure that I wasn't going to act insecure."

"Oh, like the way you're acting with Richard right now," Lanie said, giving Kate the clinical eye. "So, you didn't have lunch . . . was that to avoid seeing Castle? Or was it just cuz you didn't have the time? Didn't have the time, or didn't make the time," Lanie reminded her.

Kate acted like she wasn't following the idea.

"Tick-tock . . . tick-tock, goes the clock . . . don't you remember that conversation we had in the morgue, now almost _two_ years ago," Lanie asked, while making pendulum motions with the wine glass in her hand.

"Oh that" Kate said, as she figured out where Laine was coming from. "Really, I don't mean to do this . . . I don't want to be like this . . . but it's just that Meredith had explained why things hadn't worked out between her and Richard. I just want it to work out between us . . . I don't want to lose what we have."

"The last time you said that, you didn't really have anything. This time you're about to lose the best thing that's ever happened to you. And it's quite possible nothing better will ever come along in the future. Girl, you don't know how lucky you are. You found a man who wants to be there for you. You heard that man declare he loved you with all his heart . . . and you waited more than a year before you even acknowledged it to yourself, and to him! Richard Castle must have been listening to a contact he has somewhere in the Universe to have waited that long. Girl, there is a man out there who sincerely loves you for who you are. He loves you Kate, and you know you love him. He's put his very life on the line for you. He's just a writer. He's never been in the military; never had formal police training. Have you ever considered the fear he's had to overcome to protect you? If that's not a sign of true devotion, then I don't know what is. At least he was brave enough to tell you he loved you . . . true, the first time was when you had other things to think about . . . like whether you would live or not . . . but you heard it. I'm still waiting for that to come out of a man's mouth in my case."

"Oh Lanie, I didn't know . . . we've never really talked about that," Kate replied. "What happened between you and Javier?"

"Whoa . . . first you tell me you heard and understood the first part of what I said, then I'll tell you what happened, got that," Lanie commanded.

"Ok, yeah . . . I got it" Kate said, taking another long sip of wine. "It's just that Meredith said . . ."

"No, you didn't get it . . .You are not Meredith!" Lanie interrupted. "You are Kate Beckett . . . you are in his eyes, super cop Nikki Heat, and in real life too. You will never, ever be a deep-fried Twinkie. You are essential for his well-being just as he has become for yours. Separate from each other and your love will starve to death. So whatever reasoning you've been using to determine that your life will somehow be better _without_ Richard Castle in it; I'd toss it in the trash!" Lanie concluded, as she opened the lid to her kitchen trash can and disposed of the empty take-out boxes.

"Consider it tossed," Kate said with new determination, as she reached for the wine bottle and refilled both glasses. "Now, tell me what happened."

"Well, things were going really hot and heavy. We were really into each other. We had a double date, so to speak, with Kevin and Jenny; although they were both engaged at the time. We were having a great evening and then Javier proposed a toast to their happiness in marriage. Everything was fine until Jenny threw out the question of when we might be getting married. I guess the looks on our faces must not have been so good. It kind'a dampened the evening from then on, but we made it through Okay. But when Javier and I got back to my place, I asked him if he had ever thought about that question . . . you know . . . just to test the waters. He told me he really hadn't. So, I tried another angle and I asked him if he was really in love with me, because I was beginning to think that way about him. He couldn't say it, Kate . . . he couldn't . . . or wouldn't say it out loud," Lanie finished, as her eyes began tearing up. She took another sip of wine. "Well, needless to say, it ended in a mega-fight. We decided to cool things off. But they've never really gotten back on track between us."

"Oh, Lanie, I'm so sorry," Kate gasped.

"Don't be," Lanie sighed, "my day will come . . ."

"Hey, weren't you the one who has been telling me my clock has been ticking . . . and that nobody has all the time in the world? . . . What about you," Kate remarked.

"All I know is this . . . my happy day will come . . . it will be happy because it will be the real thing. I'm not going to force the issue with anybody . . . and I won't need you telling me to open my eyes," Lanie concluded.

It was going on 9:30 PM and the food and drink were done yet another workday was coming. Kate took her leave. She didn't even remember if the sidewalks were cleared, or even if it had stopped snowing, or any details of her subway ride home. She had somehow just found herself outside her front door, searching for the keys in her purse. She had been thinking long and hard. When the current cases closed, she knew what she had to do. As soon as she got inside, she did something she had not done in a few weeks. 'Love you with all my heart . . . don't forget it' was the text she sent to Richard's phone. About a minute later she received his reply: 'Tomorrow?'. She sent another: 'Yes, tomorrow . . . and Always'.

A couple of days later, the cases closed. Gates had been particularly happy with her team's performance sans Castle. She even allowed a joint team case closure party. It might have been the only one anyone could recall that she had actually known about. She even smiled weakly as Castle joined them in the conference room. Gates thanked them all for a job well done and then took her leave.

"Castle, do you have a minute," Kate asked, as she motioned him to step outside. Déjà vu he thought; only this time Gina was elsewhere. "Castle, I was wondering if I could come over to the loft tonight . . . there's something we've got to discuss," Kate began. If she had finally learned one thing, it was that such discussions were never going to take place at the office.

"Always . . . you're always welcome there," he simply said, his expression changing to one of joy.


	20. Chapter 20

_A/N: I hope you enjoy the less choppy, plot-line tweaked, and somewhat improved version. The non-canon Denouement – Caskett shippers, enjoy._

 _Disclaimer: I do not own Castle – all credit goes to Andrew Marlow and the writing team for ABC's Castle; my thanks to them for providing a foundation for this little exercise_

20

Kate awoke near ten o'clock on a lazy Sunday morning at the end of the second week in May. The strong sunlight was beaming in through the slats in the blinds and reflecting off the polished floor. She reached behind herself toward the other side of the bed only to find it was not only empty, but that side was no longer warm. Richard must have arisen quite a bit earlier, so she listened for any clues as to what might be going on. As her head was clearing from the fogginess of sleep, she remembered something that Lanie had told her one afternoon in the city morgue. Lanie had been right (again, of course). People thought they had all the time in the world, but Kate was surprised at how fast her time had drifted by. It had been pretty much two years since that conversation; it was now going on three years since that fateful week just before Memorial Day when Richard had first asked her to visit the Hamptons with him; and it was just a few months shy of five years from the time she had first laid eyes on that wild playboy whom she had come to love. She smiled as she remembered how stunned he looked when he saw her holding the NYPD shield in his face. She could have had her way with him nearly five years earlier, but she hadn't seized the opportunity.

Her daydreams faded into the background as she heard the front door to the loft apartment open.

"Hi dad," Alexis said as she entered.

Apparently, Richard was in the kitchen doing something other than fixing breakfast because no culinary invitations had reached her nose yet. Alexis had completed her freshman year in college. Kate felt that what had seemed to Alexis as nearly forever for those semesters to come to completion, were like only a couple of months in her own life given all that had been going on. She keyed in on the conversation that had started between father and daughter.

". . . Well dad, weren't you the one who told me once that any relationship that lasted longer than a breath mint was going to have its challenges," Alexis apparently said in reply to something Kate had missed.

Maybe Kate had missed breakfast as well. She remembered that Martha was up and out before nine o'clock on Saturdays and Sundays due to her involvement with theatrical tutorials. The conversation continued.

Kate gathered that Richard was using his experience with her to explain his point of view on relationships; and how people came to be as they appeared to the outside world. Richard became lost in a monolog. . .

"Okay Alexis, take yourself for example. How do you feel about your personal future now that you've left high school and have made it through the first year of college? I say that because I remember your heartfelt speech at your graduation ceremony . . . how you were reluctant to leave that former world knowing that everything was going to change. And that's just my point. Many people seem to feel that their upbringing and their parents, whether for the good or the bad, are the main things that define their lives. One of the things that teenagers in the 1960's used to like to say to piss off their parents was their declaration that they were the product of their environment; or that if one wasn't part of the solution, then one was part of the problem . . . things like that. So, for some reason if their family was poor; or mother or father were either a crook or an alcoholic that they too would most likely be condemned to that same pattern. It's like they came packaged in a box, and that's how they were going to fit into society; like whatever shape and size that box happened to be, that's where it would fit. Remember those collectible dolls that Susan, your friend, had when you were in fifth grade; the ones you used to try to convince me to buy for you? She never took them out of the box to play with them. They were only for show. I wonder where they are today. Likewise, there are people who never ever try to do anything with their initial package when they leave home and enter the world. I've developed several characters like them in my books. Sure, everyone comes in a package; I'm not saying there are those who are just free spirits and those who are constrained – that's not what I'm talking about. Again, sure, anyone can have one or even several highly emotional or even traumatic events in their lives; and there is no doubt those events will shape that person's outlook; and even their personality to a degree. But personality and destiny are two completely different things. I don't agree with the fixed box philosophy. Remember when your friend Rita was killed in a car accident just after she got her license; and how you swore you'd never drive a car? But you did eventually overcome it; and you can drive now if you want to. The point illustrates my philosophy. Yes, we start with a particular box of a given size and shape; but the very important difference is that we put forth the effort to start pushing the sides of that box. The size and shape have to do with our fears, our past experiences, or the limitations we assign to ourselves. Maybe things have defined us, labelled us, and shoved us into a corner; but what's to stop one from pushing the sides more and more until that corner becomes a curve; or even flattens out? What's to stop a person from exerting tremendous energy and even bursting the box wide open and becoming something or someone completely unexpected? In my book, Alexis, we never stop pushing and shaping the sides and the corners. It's only when we've become too old, too weak, or too lazy or too depressed to care anymore, that we stop pushing on the walls that constrain us. Remember when you got upset with me about working at the precinct thereby putting myself and even the family in needless danger; and you told me to grow up and stop pretending to be a cop? I told you I would grow up. I had to make good on that promise to you, to myself; if I hadn't, other people would have been seriously affected. I realized it wasn't about running around, writing books, and having a good time anymore. I pushed the wall on that side of the box and I'm very glad I did.", Richard concluded.

"I'm glad you did too," Alexis replied getting up from the kitchen stool to give him a hug. "Dad, like I said before, don't grow up too much."

That jogged Kate's memory to about four months earlier when the original 'deep fried Twinkie', Meredith had shown up to nurse Alexis back to health, or so she said. In answer to Kate's question as to why things had not worked out between her and Richard, she had complained that she knew so little about him; whereas he knew basically everything about her. Kate had just learned something. She had just heard the real Richard Alexander Rogers, the inner man, not the other man who appeared to the world as Richard Castle. She realized she had held the key to it all along but had made the same stupid mistakes that his two former wives had made over and over. If the average man had attention deficit hyperactivity disorder when it came to connecting his tongue to his innermost feelings, then Richard Castle was on the extreme end of the hyperactive scale. For Castle, one had to signal that playtime was over; that the game had ended for the day; but just snapping one's fingers and giving the command like some classroom teacher to her students, wasn't going to accomplish the task. Castle was the kind of man that needed a long time for the churning waters, which comprised his mental activity, to become still; and after that, one needed to listen patiently. Kate realized she had caught one of those very rare moments. She had seen how Martha had accomplished it, now that she looked back on their history together. Kate hoped she could recreate it in the future. Perhaps that was why he had been so patient with her, even when she had been less than kind to him. Perhaps he had interpreted those difficult times as her efforts to push on the sides of her own enclosure; and he didn't want to interfere with such important steps. Kate had just brushed it off as her way of dealing with personal issues but maybe Richard apparently had seen it as something else. One thing was for sure, Kate had chosen to learn things the hard way. Maybe the time had arrived to push on that side of the box if she was to keep her relationship running smoothly with him.

Kate remained in bed for a few more minutes thinking about the man with whom she was now sharing that bed on a regular basis. She chided herself for having been so blind at times. Lanie had told her the very same thing repeatedly, yet she had brushed it off. Castle had been waiting for her. All that time and well over a hundred major cases together and he had always been there for her – just like he said 'Always'. It was her he cared about. She was the one that got coffee delivered every morning. She had almost thrown that away; but no more. She had found the right man – her man from now on. She threw off the covers and stretched; then got up and got dressed. About twenty minutes later she emerged from the bedroom looking like the Kate Beckett that Richard was always so glad to see at the precinct and this morning was no exception. He beamed as he looked at her. Apparently, Alexis had left for destinations unknown while Kate had been getting ready to meet the day.

They greeted each other with a kiss. Richard wanted to know what he could fix her for breakfast.

"I don't know – anything, just as long as it's not one of your S'morelettes that Alexis warned me about," Kate replied.

"No culinary appreciation," he muttered.

Castle enjoyed another cup of coffee with her as she ate. They cleaned up together. As they were working side by side, Kate also thought about Richard's mother and daughter. They were good people. Martha adored her, having confessed that she was probably the best thing that had ever happened to her son. Kate loved how respectful and sensible and caring Alexis could be. If one had to have a step-daughter, Alexis would be the kind to wish for.

"Castle, I've been thinking," Kate began, as they were leaving the kitchen.

"Thinking what," he inquired back.

"Thinking that we need to go for a long walk in the park on a day like this . . . only this time it's not to examine any dead bodies . . . rather I think it should be to discuss what we're going to do at the Hamptons this year for Memorial Day weekend," she said, in a tone that hinted at a playful mood.

They left the apartment together and made their way over to Central Park, walking in sync like the genuine item they had become. For the moment, they were free from all the demands and limitations their world could impose. Kate was not on call nor was Richard facing a deadline; finally, they could be themselves sharing time together far out of the range of Captain Gates' radar. Kate glanced at Richard as they walked along. She noted his expression; she remembered that look because it was the same one he had worn the evening of the first Nikki Heat book launch. The evening he had finished telling her that she was extraordinary, but this time she didn't dare open her mouth. His expression revealed that was proud to be in her company and that she had made him the happiest man in the world. He glanced toward her and caught her eye. They both snickered as they jointly remembered the first time they had played that game while reading stacks of his fan mail back at the precinct for clues to their first murder case. As they continued walking, Castle silently promised himself that he would do everything in his power to keep them walking together, no matter how rough the future path might become. The Universe had nothing more to say as the glare from the midday sun upon NYC hid them from its view.


	21. Chapter 21

_A/N: The non-canon Epilog – Castle fans, enjoy because I think there will be more to come._

 _Disclaimer: I do not own Castle – all credit goes to Andrew Marlow and the writing team for ABC's Castle; my thanks to them for providing a foundation for this little exercise._

Epilog

About three months later . . . on a mid-Friday afternoon.

The phone ringing in Castle's office startled him out of an otherwise long streak in concentration. He certainly hadn't expected any activity for the day given that Martha was busy from, what was for her, early morning until about 6:00 PM with tutorials; and Alexis was busy with final exams resulting from her classes during the summer session; and Kate was going to check up on her father just as soon as she got off work; and Gina's demands had been met with his latest submittal of three chapters in the next Nikki Heat novel – as yet untitled.

"Richard Castle," he replied in a professional tone.

"Hi dad."

"Oh Alexis, it's you," he declared, "why didn't you use the cell phone like you normally do?"

"You didn't pick up," she stated flatly, "and besides, I have some interesting news for you.

"Now you've really got my attention, oh daughter of mine," he said as he fished for the cell phone in his pants pocket, only to find it was indicating a red bar with about 2% left on the battery, so it would not activate.

"Well, father of mine, I've just got the grades back from my finals, and I can kiss most of the required courses, that I couldn't get advanced placement credits for, goodbye. I did fine, all A's and B's."

"And?"

"And, that means I can concentrate on my major from here on out," she replied somewhat cryptically.

"Wait a minute, I thought you hadn't declared a major."

"Well, now I have. I've decided to study marine biology," she declared excitedly.

"Where on earth did that come from? Am I the first to know? Because your grams is going to need to be sitting down when she gets that news," her father replied in a cautionary tone. "I mean, I'm happy for you, and I want you to pursue your passion, but this hasn't been influenced by someone like Pi, has it?"

"Oh dad, No! There's no one like Pi involved this time," she responded in a somewhat disgusted manner, although she couldn't blame him for asking. "No, this is purely me. And yes, you're the first to know. I've always told you I want to do something that will make a difference and finding ways to protect the environment seems to be a good fit. And, there's a field camp at the end of it all that's sponsored by NOAA."

"Noah, like the guy with the ark," her father said just to be funny.

"NOAA, as in the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration – that's who. And just think dad, it's a government agency that might have all kinds of secret agendas at stuff like that," she countered, also trying to be funny.

"Well, that's great, but why can't you come over and share the moment in person," he wanted to know, reverting back to a more serious tone.

"Can't this weekend, I'm going upstate with my friend Lucy for an end of exams celebration, we really need to get out of town," she explained. "Oh, by the way how's grams and Kate?"

"Oh, your grams is still hanging in there, busy as can be, and the summer heat doesn't seem to be bothering her as much now as it was back in June. I'm sure she' going to be very glad to hear about your exam results, but I'm going to leave it completely to you on how to break the news – your secret's safe with me, for now that is," he said and then paused, "As for Kate, well, Kate is being her normal self, so everything seems to be going along just fine."

"What's that supposed to mean? Is something wrong?"

"No, really, everything is as good as I could hope for. We've had a couple of really nice weekends in the Hamptons, and she's really beginning to enjoy herself there - now that she's gotten used to the place."

"Well, OK, I hope you're sure, and I seriously hope you're not covering anything up between you two."

"No, I swear to you I'm telling the truth," he concluded, "Well, have a good time unwinding . . . bye dear, see you soon."

Castle took a moment to review the situation before returning to his writing. Yes, he was telling the truth about his relationship with Kate – no arguments, no 'looks' recently, no hidden agendas; just work and some occasional downtime. Wow, almost like normal people. Maybe there was hope for them after all.

Meanwhile, the workload at the 12th precinct homicide department had dropped off again, which left Ryan and Esposito free to catch up on some department training courses, so they were out for at least a week. Kate had been busy with paperwork and studying for the Captain's exam, which she planned to take in the fall. And Lanie had declared that she had seen too much snow, although there had not been that much for the average NYC winter, and too many dead bodies over the past 5 – 6 months and needed a real vacation. She was currently in the Bahamas and other parts of the Caribbean for two weeks. She had left Kate and Richard on autopilot for the time being. It had been a quiet summer so far, so what could possibly go wrong?

 _A/N: Well, that's it for this one. I won't be adding any more chapters. But look for a new one coming soon._


End file.
